Of A Sort
by FernWithy
Summary: A series of stories about the experience all Hogwarts students share: being Sorted into their houses on their first day at school.
1. Sept 1, 1856: Albus Dumbledore

**A/N**: Yes, I know... not the most original idea in history. I just wanted a try at the Sorting ceremony, and I got a little carried away, and thought it would be fun to do a lot of them, just for comparison. I'll be doing them in chronological order, starting with Dumbledore and working forward. In the years where more than one person is sorted, I'll start with one scene on the train to meet everyone, then go on and do the separate Sortings. This story, of course, takes place before there was a train.

**Of A Sort**  
by FernWithy  
September 1, 1856:  
Albus Dumbledore

Albus looked at the castle across the lake with great misgivings, his letter clasped tightly in one hand. Aside from a small bag of clothes, it was all he had. He hadn't known where to get any of the things they asked for, and wouldn't have been able to, anyway.

Beside him, the great red bird that had led him here sat on the bank and looked up at him expectantly. It had appeared in the forest this morning out of a ball of flame. Albus might have been frightened of it, but he had been living in the forest for a year now, and almost nothing in it frightened him anymore. Even the centaurs, with their nasty looks and notched arrows, hadn't hurt him. Some of the creatures _could_ hurt him, but he had a sense about them and stayed away. The firebird didn't seem dangerous at all--Albus thought he felt _good_, like Papa's hand on his head, guiding him along the paths.

But Papa was gone, lost in a Muggle scuffle between Scots and Irishmen he had been trying to help. Albus understood in a vague way that there was a famine because of failed plantings, and that it had made everyone move pointlessly about in a sour temper, causing friction, but he didn't know what made it happen, or why Papa hadn't Disapparated when the fight began (except that he sometimes had an awful idea that Papa was trying to make his way across to _him_, and wouldn't leave without him, but he couldn't stand thinking that, since he had been safe under a table the whole time), or why no one seemed to stop fighting when they realized someone had been hurt, especially someone was only trying to help them. He understood only that he'd had to fight through the scufflers in order to get to Papa, and Papa's blood was everywhere, and nothing had been left in his eyes when Albus had finally reached him.

Mama had been gone since Albus was small, and he had nowhere to go, so he'd gone to the forest, just like in the tales he'd been told, and the tales were true--the forest gave him what he needed, mostly, and what it didn't give him, he found he could magic for himself without any trouble. Shelter, fire, even company--the forest didn't lack for speaking creatures. The only thing he found he couldn't magic were the sweets he liked best, and he thought he would give anything for a whole pile of pumpkin pasties.

And then, the letter.

The owl had found him curled at the base of a tree, and, sure enough, the envelope had been addressed to "Albus Dumbledore, The Bottom of the Great Oak, Forbidden Forest." He had ignored it. He didn't know how to get to the village of Hogsmeade, where he was supposed to meet everyone, and he definitely had no money to buy a pile of books, a wand, and a cauldron. There was no point to it, and no place for him among people to whom such things were the normal way of life.

The bird beside him at the lake made a soft, comforting sound, and Albus reached down absently to stroke its head. It was the softest bird he'd ever touched. "I'm not sure," he said to it.

It looked implacably up at him. It would not leave his side, and had drawn him along with songs and trust to this place where he could see the turrets of the castle.

"Who sent you?" he asked it.

"No one sends Fawkes."

Albus jumped. He usually had a good feel for when people were nearby, but the newcomer had stood silently and drawn no notice.

"How long have you been there?" Albus asked.

The stranger smiled. He was an old man, judging by his white hair and beard, but there was something boyish in his face. "Oh, I watched you come out of the forest. I didn't want to startle you. My name is Nicolas Flamel. I teach Potions and Alchemy at the school. I've seen you at the forest's edge. I had hoped you would come." He gave a stern-looking frown. "We weren't sure you would. Your brother Aberforth was very worried when you failed to go to him in London."

"Aberforth was worried?" Albus raised an eyebrow, not sure if he should trust the man now. It hadn't even occurred to him to go to Aberforth's Whitechapel flat, with its endless stream of liquor and ladies of ill repute. The last time Albus and Papa had gone to visit him, Aberforth had slapped himself on the forehead and slurred, "Oh, right. Forgot you had another one. What's his name? Elric or something?" The notion of Aberforth being worried about him seemed a bit farfetched.

Flamel spread his hands out in a gesture that said, _There you have it_, then grinned in a way that made his white hair and wrinkled skin look like a bad disguise, and Albus trusted him completely, as he would from that day forward. "Well, we _think_ you're the one he's worried about. He was fairly certain he had a sister until we showed him your records at the Ministry."

Albus bit his lip. "Mr. Flamel..."

"_Professor_ Flamel."

"Yes, sir, Professor Flamel. I didn't answer the owl because I don't have... I can't buy..."

But Flamel was already shaking his head. "I took the liberty, Albus. You'll find everything but your wand, which I will take you into London to buy tomorrow, right here." He waved his own wand, and a large wooden trunk appeared beside Albus on the grass. It opened, and Albus saw a pile of black robes, stacks of books, a cauldron, and something that hadn't been on the list: bags and bags of sweets. He looked up at Flamel, who was looking back kindly. "I thought it might have been awhile. So will you come up to the school, Albus?"

Albus felt his stomach give a lurch. Flamel was kind, and the bird--Fawkes--wanted to be with him, and wanted him here, but he didn't know anyone, and it would be difficult, starting with nothing but the charity of a stranger.

Flamel laughed gently. "Albus, your father gave his charity to strangers, and someday you will do the same. There is nothing shameful in allowing me to help you."

Fawkes trilled a high note and Albus felt sure the firebird was smiling at him, though it was quite impossible through a beak.

"Why do you want me there?" he asked.

Flamel put a hand on his shoulder. "You have been watched, Albus. And seen. There are many things you can be, many things you _must_ be. You need to learn, and Hogwarts is the place for you to do it. It is a place where magic truly happens--the mind Conjures new worlds, hearts are Charmed by affection, and boys are Transfigured into the men they are meant to become. And you, Albus Dumbledore, are meant to become a great man. A great wizard, yes, of course... but the man you will be is greater than the wizard."

Albus swallowed hard. It seemed quite a lot was expected, and by a stranger to boot, but there was something about Flamel, something that made Albus believe him. It was frightening. "Then that's why you sent Fawkes?" he asked. "To make sure I came?"

"I told you, Albus. I didn't _send_ Fawkes." Flamel pointed down the road that led away from the school, and Albus could now see the signs of motion in the distance. "The others will be here soon."

"But Fawkes, sir... if you didn't send him..."

"Fawkes saw you as well," Flamel told him. "I asked him to find you today and lead you here, but he was free to refuse."

"Refuse?"

"Fawkes is considerably older than I am, Albus, and he has accumulated his own wisdom. He has stayed with my wife and myself for many years, but I believe he has decided to move on now."

"He has?"

In answer, the bird leaned its head over and rubbed it against Albus's hand, singing its sweet song again.

"You are also free to refuse," Flamel said. "I ask you to come to Hogwarts. I do not force you to do so."

Albus bit his lip and looked at the puffs of dust up the road, moving forward as the carriages sped up from the village. He could already see the shapes of the first few. "Professor Flamel--" he began, but when he turned, Flamel had disappeared again.

He looked down at Fawkes. "I'll look after you either way, you know," he said.

Fawkes just stared back at him, and Albus felt foolish. He'd never seen a creature that looked less like it needed looking after.

The first carriage hit the road beside the lake and started its run up to the castle. Most of the others followed it, but a few broke off and thundered down the road toward Albus's side of the lake. It was his last chance to escape back to the Forest.

He stayed.

The carriages screamed to a halt, and children of Albus's age started to pile out of them, looking almost as scared as he felt. A boy with hair slightly redder than his own smiled nervously at him and gave a little wave.

Albus took a deep breath and went over to join them. Fawkes took wing, and landed gently on his shoulder. The weight was comfortable.

"Great bird," the red-haired boy said. "That's not a _phoenix_ is it?"

Albus nodded, hoping he was right. He hadn't asked Flamel. But he couldn't think of any other birds that flew in fire and were older than old men. "His name is Fawkes. He's going to stay with me."

The other boy appeared deeply impressed, and after a moment, a group of the children had gathered around Albus, mainly to meet Fawkes. Albus wasn't offended by this. It felt good to be in the middle of the group, and the Forest seemed very far away. He found that he didn't miss it.

The last carriage pulled up and an adult got out of it, a pretty woman with a heart-shaped face and thick black hair that didn't seem to want to stay in the clips that were meant to hold it up. "First years!" she said cheerfully, "I'm Professor Potter. I'll be teaching you Defense Against the Dark Arts. I will also be getting you across this lake." She raised her wand. Boats unmoored themselves from their berths at the far side of the lake and floated serenely over. She looked over and noticed Fawkes. "Ah," she said. "I see Fawkes has brought us our missing student. Albus Dumbledore, I'm willing to guess?"

Albus nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, you're a bit late. Don't make a habit of it." She smiled prettily, and Albus wondered when his first lesson with her would be. She raised her hand and waved at the boats, which were now waiting patiently at the lake's edge. "Well, first years... climb aboard!"

There was a great deal of motion as the children all stumbled into boats. Albus let it wash by him. He didn't enjoy being jostled. In the end, he was glad of this--he ended up in the last boat with Professor Potter and the red-haired boy who had first spoken to him.

Professor Potter chatted their way across the lake, telling them about the giant squid that lived here and the mermaids who had a village far below. She also talked about the weather, her baby son, her husband in the Ministry, and how excited she was about the classes she planned to teach. Albus wasn't sure how many things one person could talk about on the short trip across the lake, but he wasn't complaining. She laughed frequently, and it was a very pretty laugh. And besides, he didn't have to say anything as long as someone else was talking.

The boats came to a dock underneath the castle very quickly, and there was another jostle as everyone disembarked. Professor Potter led them up the stairs, and stopped in front of a huge wooden door. She clapped her hands together smartly. She was still smiling, but she looked a little more business-like. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said. "I hope you've all enjoyed your trip here."

There was a murmur of assent.

"Now, while you are studying at Hogwarts, you will live in one of four houses: Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, or Slytherin. I was a Gryffindor myself. Well, I still am, actually. Your house will always be a part of you. When you go into the Great Hall, you will be sorted."

The red-haired boy raised his hand. "How?"

Professor Potter gave him an enigmatic look and said, "You'll see."

She opened the great door.

When Albus looked into the room, he felt his heart rise. It was a sea of people and candles that floated in the growing twilight, and they were all smiling, craning to see their new classmates.

_I love it here,_ he thought quite suddenly. On his shoulder, Fawkes made a soft sound of agreement. "We'll stay," he whispered to the bird.

Professor Potter led them down an aisle between the tables, toward a wooden stool where an old pointed hat stood. Its brim moved of its own accord, and its point leaned slightly toward the first years. A rip near its brim seemed to smile over some secret.

The slight murmurs in the hall died down, and Albus looked up at a table where several adults were sitting. Flamel nodded to him, and he nodded back. One of the other men, dressed in green and silver robes, looked distinctly unhappy to be here. He stood up. "Welcome, first years," he said snappily. "I am your headmaster, Phineas Nigellus. You are expected to obey rules and complete your work." He waved a hand at Professor Potter. "Get on with it, Vega," he said.

"My uncle is a fluffy bunny when you get used to him," she said in a loud whisper. Nigellus glared at her. She winked back at him merrily and waved, winning her a fond laugh from the first years, and a bit of applause from some of the bolder students in back.

A sound came from the stool, and Albus realized that the hat had just cleared its throat, and everyone was looking at it. At the head table, Phineas Nigellus fetched a deep sigh and began rubbing his temples in anticipation of whatever was coming.

The rip at the brim of the hat widened, and it began to sing.

_Once upon a time there were  
Two witches wise and good  
And two wizards shrewd and bold  
Did join them when they could  
The four had voyaged far to learn,  
From east to west did roam  
But in the end they all returned  
To this, their island home.  
Once together they decided  
To ease the way for evermore  
By joining their minds in one place  
So ignorance was nevermore.  
So began our Hogwarts dear  
In the keeping of the Four  
Each had a favorite virtue  
Which for their House was the core.  
And now I have their minds for you  
To find where you belong  
So listen closely young ones  
To this year's Sorting song!  
Dear Hufflepuff a matron was  
And loved the loving most  
Her house was full of care and joy  
And now could be your host!  
Bright Ravenclaw was wed to books  
And all suitors fell behind  
You might belong in Ravenclaw  
If your heart reflects your mind!  
Young Gryffindor was bold and brave  
The defender of the lot  
If your heart is fierce and true  
Then Gryffindor's your plot!  
It was Slytherin who had the drive  
To truly build their vision  
You'll be at home in Slytherin  
If you are ruled by ambition.  
So come to me and try me on  
And I will whisper in your ear  
The place where you will be at home  
Beginning now, this year._

Albus clapped, delighted. Only a few other people did, but it took him a moment to notice. Had he really hesitated to cross the water? Had he really thought about staying in the forest? Kind, or smart, or brave, or ambitious... he didn't know what he wanted most. All the houses sounded wonderful. All he knew was that he wanted to try on that hat.

He glanced up at Professor Potter, and felt himself smiling widely. She laughed. "I'll call you up alphabetically." She winked at Albus, and spoke quietly. "You won't have to wait long."

The first years gathered around, and Professor Potter called, "Alroy, Filia." The small blonde girl who came forward put on the hat, and a moment later it called out, _"RAVENCLAW!"_

Albus watched Filia Alroy go to her table, where the other Ravenclaws welcomed her with outstretched hands as "Baden, Helga" became a Hufflepuff. "Comstock, Frederick"... "DeFrayn, Eloise"... then, "Dumbledore, Albus."

Albus could barely restrain himself from running to the stool. Fawkes soared off his shoulder for a moment while he sat down, then settled at his feet. Professor Potter handed him the hat.

He put it on without any preliminaries, and let it slide down over his eyes, enclosing him in darkness.

"Ah," a voice whispered. "I've been waiting for you, I think, Albus Dumbledore."

_Hello,_ Albus thought, excited, not knowing whether or not he had to speak to be heard (the others hadn't spoken). _I'm pleased to meet you._

Apparently, the hat was able to hear his thoughts. It laughed softly. "And to think, you almost stayed out in the cold."

_Where will I be?_ Albus asked.

"Hmmm... Well, you're a difficult case. The kindness of a Hufflepuff, the mind of a Ravenclaw, the boldness of a Gryffindor, and, quite honestly, the arrogance of a Slytherin. Ignoring a Hogwarts owl, indeed!"

But the hat didn't sound annoyed. It actually sounded rather pleased. Albus felt Fawkes beside his leg, a warm weight, singing nicely. _Er... Mr. Hat?_

"Ah, yes. You'll need to be somewhere, won't you? But I find that I don't want to sort you. You will always belong to the whole of Hogwarts."

_I will?_

"Yes, always. But the founders belonged to one another without losing their identities, and your identity is what it is. Fawkes recognized you, Albus Dumbledore, and chose you because you are of a piece with his first human companion."

_Really?_

"Curiously, he was my first human companion as well, and I agree with Fawkes' choice. You are the true heir. Welcome home to...

_"GRYFFINDOR!"_

**To be continued... in 1933.**


	2. Sept 1, 1933: Minerva McGonagall

**Of A Sort**  
by FernWithy  
September 1, 1933:  
Minerva McGonagall

"Really, Mother, this is silly," Minerva said, straightening her new robes. She'd made a little bow of her family tartan to pin to the collar, but Mother said it would have to come off when she was assigned her house colors.

"What's silly?"

"We've come all the way to London just so I can catch a train directly back to Hogsmeade."

"It will give you a chance to meet your classmates."

Minerva squinted through the steam on Platform Nine-and-Three-Quarters. The tall shadows moving about didn't look much like friend material. "I'd have met them at school," she said.

"You will have a book open the moment they let you near your trunk." Mother checked the ends of Minerva's plaits, which had started to unravel in the humidity, and did a quick spell to shore them up. Satisfied, she gave Minerva a quick, business-like kiss on the cheek. "Now, I expect you to do your work, and to make friends, and to _not_ spend your weekends trying to come home or asking for chores around the shop."

Minerva didn't answer. She didn't _like_ working in her parents' parchment store, but surely it was some sort of duty.

"Now, listen to me," Mother said. "Whichever House you're sorted into--"

"Ravenclaw," Minerva said morosely. Everyone knew she would be a Ravenclaw. Boring, old maid bookworms. The thirdie Slytherins who came into the shop last year had made fun of her glasses and her books and told her that she would be sorted there, and the Ravenclaw fourth year who came in after them hadn't helped matters by assuring her that it wasn't as bad as she was thinking, and she would fit right in.

They hadn't won the Quidditch cup for Minerva's entire life. They barely even won _games_.

_And_ none of them seemed to care much.

Not that Minerva let on to Mother that this was an important issue to her. Mother purely hated Quidditch.

"_Whichever_ house," Mother said, "I expect you to be a credit to it. Get good grades, work hard, and be a well-behaved young lady. I don't want to get owls about you, Minerva."

"Yes, Mother."

Mother inspected her, frowning deeply. Her eyes narrowed. "Let me see your handbag, Minerva."

Minerva tried to push the large bag around behind her, but of course it was too late. Resigned, she held it up for Mother.

Mother took it and opened it. Her lips went tight and her eyebrows moved in toward one another. "Minerva?"

"I promise, I'll put it away if anyone wants to talk to me!"

Mother drew the book out. It was only a simple little story about a boy who solved mysteries--a child's book, really, with illustrations of brooms flying around behind a Quidditch pitch and of girls waving from the stands--and Minerva had only brought it because...

Well, because she'd thought it was small enough to fit in her handbag without Mother noticing it.

"Minerva," Mother said, "I am delighted that you enjoy your books, but we talked about this. You will need to _meet your classmates_ today."

"They won't talk to me, anyway."

"Certainly not, if you go off in a corner and bury your nose in a book." Mother slipped the book into the pocket of her own robe. "Now, you will go on that train, you will sit with your classmates, and you will be polite and pleasant to them."

"Yes, Mother."

There was another dry kiss on the cheek--Mother was not one for great displays of affection, a circumstance for which Minerva was _profoundly_ grateful--then Minerva found herself being pulled along in a crowd of children her age and older. She jostled her trunk up onto the train and somehow or other managed to stow it in a luggage bay. She could see older students putting theirs up in overhead racks, but most of those that were close to her size didn't even attempt it.

She made her way back into an empty compartment, then remembered that Mother had been adamant about meeting people, and Mother would check. She spoke to Hogwarts teachers frequently when they came into the shop to buy their supplies, and anything Minerva did would get back her. She took a hard swallow from her spitless mouth, and headed back into the more crowded part of the train.

The first compartment was full with six older students in Slytherin robes. One of them looked at her like she was a particularly disgusting doxy when she searched for an empty seat. The second compartment was crowded with people around a vending cart of some sort. The third was occupied by two girls who seemed to be first years like herself--they had no House colors--and a boy wearing the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw.

Well, he was likely to be in her House, at any rate. It seemed as good a place to start as any, and perhaps when the conversation lagged, he would have an extra book she could borrow.

_Meet your classmates._

Minerva steeled herself and said, "Hello."

The two first year girls started to give her smiles, then seemed to notice something out the opposite window. Probably the reflection of the wretched glasses. The Ravenclaw boy didn't acknowledge her. He leaned down and picked up a broomstick that was stowed with his things and began mucking around aimlessly with its twigs.

Determined now, Minerva tried again. "Is that a Nimbus Three Hundred?" she asked (rather unnecessarily; she had been looking at pictures of them for the better part of a year and knew the make without checking).

The boy looked up at her, mildly surprised. "Yes," he said.

"May I see it?"

He thought about it, then shook his head. "First years can't have broomsticks."

"I don't mean to keep it," Minerva snapped.

The boy blinked and frowned, then apparently decided he'd rather not have an enemy. He smiled in a way that Minerva supposed was conciliatory. "I'm sorry," he said. "I just got it for my birthday, last month. I'm Henry, by the way."

"Minerva."

"You _are_ a first year, right? I'm not just forgetting you?"

"No, I'm a first year."

"Third," Henry said. He indicated the broomstick. "One of our Chasers left school last year. I'm going to try out for the Ravenclaw team."

"Oh. Good luck."

"Well, the broom lists a bit. I've been practicing. I'm trying to figure out what's pulling it."

Minerva eyed the broom. It looked well enough aligned. In perfect condition, actually. "Don't pluck the twigs," she said. "It's probably just that you're leaning. The wind on the front arm side is a little worse. Lots of people drift a bit when they think they're going straight."

She had finished saying this before she realized it was a mistake. Henry's brief openness closed off, and his mouth went straight. "It's the broom," he said. "I know perfectly well how to fly."

He went back to examining the twigs, looking determinedly away from Minerva.

"I like Quidditch," Minerva said desperately. "I saw last year's cup match... I mean, from Hogsmeade station. My father did a charm so I could hear the calls. I suppose I should say I heard it more than saw it..."

"Oh." Henry went on with his examination.

"I was sure it was going to be Hufflepuff again, but the Gryffindor Keeper--"

"Pure luck," Henry said dismissively. "Quidditch requires more careful planning."

"Like the planning Ravenclaw did when Hufflepuff beat them in October?" Minerva snapped before she thought about what she was saying. "I'm sure less careful planning would have made the point spread three hundred instead of only two hundred and ninety." As soon as it was out, she clapped her hand to her mouth. She and Father talked about Quidditch all the time, and he'd said that last Halloween, but Minerva had _promised_ herself that she wouldn't make enemies in her own House (well, the House that would be hers by tonight, anyway) by fighting about their Quidditch strategies. Mother was right--it was only a game.

Henry physically turned his back on her, sitting sideways in his seat to do it. The other two first year girls looked at her awkwardly, then turned away, like she might be contagious.

_Not a promising start._

Minerva sighed and stood up. Perhaps another compartment would be a better idea. "Er," she said. "It was nice meeting you. I'll just--"

And that was when the world turned upside down.

There was a screech of metal on metal, then Minerva was flying through the air, her shoulder slamming painfully against the luggage rack. Henry's Nimbus struck her against the ribs, and as she was held against the ceiling for a brief moment, she saw Henry himself hurtle into the window and slump down, unconscious. The other two first year girls were hanging on for dear life and screaming at the top of their lungs.

Then the compartment flipped again, throwing all of them back down to the floor and shattering the windows. There was an awful grinding sound as the Hogwarts Express hurtled over stony ground beside the tracks, finally lurching one more time and landing on its side. Minerva tucked and rolled this time, so she was only jostled a little bit when she was thrown onto the wall that was the floor when the train finally came to a stop.

She could hear shouting and screaming all up and down the train, but her own compartment was quiet--both of the other girls had either been hurt or fainted, and Henry was out cold. The door was twisted out of shape and impossible to open.

Minerva grabbed Henry's broomstick--miraculously undamaged--and clamored to the top of a pile of spilled luggage. Carefully, she lifted herself through the broken window.

The train was lying mostly on its side, though a few cars were upright toward the end. Steam rose up from the engine, and Minerva could see a few students who had been thrown from the train. They were all trying to move.

Wizards and witches were Apparating to the scene with broomsticks, flying over the anti-Apparition barrier around the train to reach the injured students. Minerva caught sight of a familiar-looking man with long reddish brown hair. He looked grave.

Someone laughed, and Minerva looked up. On the hillside opposite them, she could see a tall wizard in red robes with an ugly black and white symbol on them. He waved his hand at his throat, then his voice boomed through the air, seeming to come from everywhere. "Welcome to Grindelwald's world, Mudblood-loving filth!" 

Then he ran into the shadows of the forest.

No one else that Minerva could see was looking in the direction of the stranger. He was going to get away.

Without thinking about it, she pulled Henry's broomstick up, threw her leg over it, and flew.

Below her, she could see a path up the hillside, and the red-robed man gibbering gleefully up it. He would be clear of the barrier soon. Minerva looked up the hill. She didn't know anywhere near enough magic to do a spell to stop him, but maybe...

Relief ran through her. High on the hill was a large boulder. She leaned forward on the broomstick and sped toward it, racing against the time it would take for the man to reach an Apparition point. She got there just as he came to the edge of a clearing.

On a normal day, Minerva wouldn't have been able to budge the rock, but she'd been frightened and hurt, and she was angry. She rolled off Henry's broomstick and pushed it away, running at top speed toward the boulder. Her already injured shoulder took the brunt of the impact, but she didn't care--the boulder budged, overbalanced, and rolled.

The man looked up at the last minute, but it was too late for him to run forward and Apparate. Instead, he ran back into the woods.

The boulder crashed onto the path and shattered, blocking the way. Minerva could see the man trying to climb a tree, but the wizards by the train must have seen her come this way, because they were speeding up on broomsticks now, and two of them grabbed him before he got more than two meters off the ground.

It was over.

Minerva was suddenly very aware that her heart was beating quickly and her hands were sweaty and her shoulder hurt like fire. 

Her knees gave way and she sat down hard on the ground, hands shaking and lungs working double-time. The sky swam. While it was happening, it had seemed so normal to do, but now that it was over, she saw herself falling, being hit by a spell, being taken away by the red-robed wizard, anything.

There was a pop beside her. She looked up, and realized that she was crying when she noticed that the sunlight was broken into little prisms around the tall figure in front of her. She buried her face in her robes to wipe it away. When she looked up, she saw the newcomer more clearly. It was the red-haired wizard she'd seen from the train earlier. He looked around the clearing, his eyes sharp and observant, then seemed to decide that they were safe. He bent down and touched his wand to Minerva's shoulder, muttering a spell. The pain went away.

"We'll have to have Madam Undine look at you before you're Sorted," he said, "but I think you'll be quite all right."

Minerva nodded.

"That was a very foolish thing to do, Miss McGonagall."

She swallowed, trying to find her voice. "Yes, sir."

"But a brave one, and our attacker would have escaped without your help. So I thank you, though I urge you to be more careful in the future."

"Yes, sir." She got to her feet, still shaky. "What was that? Who is Grindelwald? I've heard my parents talking about him, but..."

"He is a wizard who is attracting something of a following on the continent, and, alas, he has followers here as well. They appear to be somewhat displeased with Hogwarts policies." He looked sadly at the train, far below. "The train should have been better protected. I feared this. But too many witches and wizards think of Grindelwald's followers as harmless philosophical purists."

"Was anyone hurt badly?"

"No. Bruises and broken bones for the most part. Your memory of your first day at Hogwarts, though, will not be so easily mended, and for that, I am truly sorry."

Minerva shrugged. "Are you a teacher?" she asked. "I've seen you in my parents' shop, I think."

He smiled, his eyes twinkling. "I'm Professor Dumbledore, Miss McGonagall," he said. "I teach Transfiguration at Hogwarts. I look forward to seeing you in my classes--you promise to be most interesting."

With that, Dumbledore gave her a nod and headed off down the hill toward the train. Minerva waited a bit longer, considered flying back, and ultimately decided to walk. She wanted the time to gather herself.

By the time she got to the train, the adults had righted it, and were working on the tracks where the spell had twisted them into a tangled mess. Students were milling about on the hillside, looking dazed but not seriously injured. She caught sight of Henry the Ravenclaw, who was sitting on a boulder holding his head like he was about to be sick.

He started to look up when she got to him, but seemed to be too dizzy for it. She held out his broom. "I borrowed it," she said. "Just for a minute."

He took it without saying anything.

Minerva shrugged. "It doesn't drag," she said. "You just have to even out your weight."

He glared at her. "That was a ridiculous thing to do," he said. "There are adults here to take care of things."

She went on, looking at the other students, wondering if there was something she was supposed to be doing. She couldn't think of anything.

She passed by the group of Slytherin students whose compartment she had gone through earlier, and one of the boys was talking rather loudly. "...and my grandparents warned them _years_ ago that using this sort of Muggle technology would make wizards angry, but of course, no one listened, and now..."

Minerva rolled her eyes. It had taken nearly fifty years for Hogwarts to decide to build a train. She thought it was _silly_, but how else were the Muggle-borns supposed to find the way? And of course, Mother was right that it was a place to meet people, and at any rate, Purebloods and Muggle-borns shouldn't arrive differently. Unless the Pureblood was from _Hogsmeade_ and could _walk_ to school if she was so inclined, and that ought to be true for any Muggle-borns who happened to live in Hogsmeade, too, although there weren't any who were school-age.

A gang of Gryffindor boys, apparently already recovered from the crash, had started a game of Quidditch, tossing cinders from the track bed back and forth and throwing them through a handy pair of trees. Minerva watched them for awhile, wishing she had a broomstick, then the adults were calling everyone back to the train, and the journey resumed.

Minerva sat in a back compartment with several students who were reading. She herself just looked out the window. As it got dark, she watched her reflection skipping along across the dark hills. When they drew into the station, there was a lot of jostling to get off the train. Most of the adults from Hogsmeade were there, and there were questions fired at all the teachers about the crash. A reporter from the _Daily Prophet_ kept trying to buttonhole students, and Professor Dumbledore kept shooing him away.

Ogg the gamekeeper--who was in the shop every two weeks to buy stationery; Minerva imagined some faraway lady friend for him, to whom he wrote scroll after scroll--called the First Years, and led them to the boats by the lake. Minerva didn't notice who she was traveling with.

When they got into the castle, most of the first years tromped up the stairs to the main door, but Professor Dumbledore pulled Minerva aside. Beside him was a fat witch wearing a frilly bonnet.

"This is Madam Undine," Dumbledore said. "She will look at your shoulder to make sure I healed it properly, then you can join us for the feast."

Minerva nodded. Dumbledore went to the top of the stairs and started talking to the other firsties. Madam Undine frowned and bent over Minerva's shoulder.

"I expect I'll be seeing quite a lot of you," she muttered, not sounding at all pleased. "Your mother was never so reckless."

"I'm usually not," Minerva said. "I just--"

Madam Undine gave her shoulder a sudden, hard push. "Did that hurt?"

"Hitting me?"

"Did it make the injury hurt _more_?"

"What? Oh, no."

"You're quite all right, I think. Dumbledore isn't an expert at this, but he can handle a dislocated shoulder well enough."

Undine took Minerva firmly by the other shoulder and herded her up the stairs after the class. When they arrived in the Great Hall, students were applauding nervously (most of them still looked quite shaken), and an old hat on a stool in the front of the room appeared to be taking a bow.

Students at the tables looked at Minerva as she was led through, and she saw with some dismay that Henry had a quite a crowd around him at the Ravenclaw table and they were looking at her sourly. She could see them leaning over to each other, whispering something up and down the length of the table. Most looked at her disapprovingly after they heard.

Minerva looked away. At the far side of the room, one of the Gryffindor boys she'd seen playing Quidditch waved to her in a friendly way. It would have made her feel better, except that it hadn't come from her own House. Her own House was whispering and staring.

Up beside the hat, Professor Dumbledore was unrolling a scroll. He looked up at the firsties and said, "Baker, Elizabeth."

A little girl made her way up to the stool as Minerva reached the group. A large, angry bruise from the crash stood out on her cheek. She put the hat on, and it slipped down over her eyes, then a moment later, the hat called out, _"SLYTHERIN!"_

Minerva bit her lip and looked back at the Ravenclaw table again. Some of the older girls were looking at her in a slightly less hostile way. Perhaps _they_ could be her friends.

"Disraeli, Rachel."

_"RAVENCLAW!"_

Minerva gave the girl a smile. Rachel Disraeli nodded. Her lip was swollen and cut, so maybe that was why she didn't smile back. Maybe Rachel would be a friend.

Maybe the damage wasn't complete. Henry couldn't be the only person in Ravenclaw with friends. And if he couldn't fly a Nimbus Three Hundred, he would never make the Quidditch team, so she wouldn't have to worry about him saying nasty things if she tried out next year.

"Jordan, Alexander" made his way up to the stool. A pale line on his dark cheek told Minerva that a cut had been recently healed. Someone at the Slytherin table made a rude comment about his complexion, but was led from the hall by an angry-looking teacher before the hat declared that Jordan was a _"HUFFLEPUFF!"_

The first years kept moving forward, their injuries in various states of magical healing. "Kendall, Bertram" became a Gryffindor; "Lawrence, Rebecca," one of the girls from Minerva's compartment, became a Ravenclaw.

"McGonagall, Minerva."

Minerva sighed and went forward. Really sort of a pointless exercise. Everyone knew where she'd end up. She looked at the Ravenclaw table just before she put the hat on. Henry was still glaring.

The hat slipped over her eyes.

"Aha," it whispered into her ear. "I haven't seen such an obvious match in years."

_Get on with it then,_ Minerva thought irritably, not at all wanting to play.

"You don't want to argue? That's surprising. I can see in your head that you enjoy that."

_There's not much point, is there, if I'm such an obvious match._

The hat seemed to laugh. "Very well. Since you don't want to make a fuss..."

Minerva sighed, and resigned herself to

_"GRYFFINDOR!"_

**To be continued... in 1938.**


	3. August 31, 1938: Tom Riddle

**A/N**: This one was very frightening to write... didn't know how close I wanted to get. Many thanks to Violet Azure for pre-reading this and catching my goofs, and for giving me a bit of confidence in this segment.

**Of A Sort**  
by FernWithy  
August 31, 1938:  
Tom Riddle 

Adders, the herpetologists kept saying--often with a level of frustration that was close to tears--were _never_ aggressive. They posed a danger _only_ to humans who came too close, and they certainly didn't seek out such a contact. Traps set to kill them were unnecessary and cruel, and the panic spreading on Bodmin Moor was far out of proportion to the admittedly unusual behavior of a handful of adders in the dilapidated play yard of the local orphanage.

There had only been _one_ attack, they stressed, and the boy who had been bitten was known to play somewhat over-exuberantly. Perhaps he had stumbled over a nest, or stepped too close to a basking snake.

On the subject of why a colony of adders was growing around an area populated by loud and often violent boys, the herpetologists were struck dumb. Most were hesitant to so much as propose a theory. There _was_ no good reason, they said, near-panic creeping into their voices. No good reason at all.

Tom Riddle, on the other hand, knew precisely why the snakes had come: he'd called them.

He'd made the mistake of mentioning this to the matron, a miserable old cow called Mrs. Masters (Tom couldn't imagine what Mr. Masters must have been thinking to marry her), and had been rewarded for this insight by a caning for tale bearing. When she had finally understood that he meant what he said, she'd shipped him off to some cold, sterile place, where they'd wrapped him in a canvas coat that smelled of mildew and had long enough arms to tie behind his back. He'd heard Mrs. Masters whisper to the doctor, "We were expecting it; we've a letter from the mother in the office, and she was quite mad--believed herself to be a witch. She lived up in Bude, and people there say she was always strange. Of course we haven't given him the letter--no need to encourage this sort of thing--but as they say, the apple doesn't fall far..."

Then there was a metal cap on his head, and bolts of pain, and when it was over, Tom decided it might be wiser not to mention the snakes to Mrs. Masters again. He _did_ bring six of them along when he broke into her office to steal his mother's letter in June, but, somewhat to his disappointment, she wasn't there, and they had nothing to do. He hadn't meant for them to attack that idiot Maurice; they'd done that because he was angry. But Mrs. Masters? He thought she'd look a lot better puffed up and gasping, and then she'd know all about tale bearing, not to mention stealing letters. 

He'd apologized to the adders for disturbing them and sent them back outside to hunt, then retrieved his letter and read it. Perhaps he would have thought his mother mad as well, except that he knew that some things weren't his imagination, and even if he'd dismissed her then, he would have believed her when an owl arrived two weeks later, inviting him to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. (He had not shared this information with the matron.) That made everything clear.

He had accepted immediately, before the owl left, and Hogwarts had arranged for the orphanage to believe he'd been given a scholarship to an obscure school outside Aberdeen, and given him directions to a place called The Leaky Cauldron, in London, where he would be given something of an orientation. All was well, except that Tom _also_ had a list of items he was meant to obtain in London, and he had neither the means to get to London nor the money to buy anything. He hadn't thought to include this information in his reply to the school--he had been in too big a hurry to confirm his place there--and had no idea how to contact them if he needed help.

He despaired of this at first, but his mother had come through for him. He liked the woman better with each passing day, and her letter was tucked down his shirt all the time now.

_Your father, for whom I named you, owns a house at Summerleaze Beach,_ she had written. _It isn't his only home, but it is the one I know best. He spent all of August there each year..._

Then she'd waxed nostalgic about their love affair, for which Tom cared nothing at all. Love at first sight, swept away, so on and so forth, in a rather girlish manner. He read this only because he had so few words from her, and he combed all of them for meaning. He didn't really like the thought of all that sweeping and swooning. Sounded a bit of mess. But he supposed she had liked it, and that was all right.

He'd picked up the two important points: his father had money, and there was a place he could be found at a given time of year. It took him longer than he expected to walk here, and the nights were cold for sleeping, but he had made it.

Tom smiled. He stood now at the top of a dune, looking down across the Sea Pool at Summerleaze Beach. A row of fine-looking houses was across from him, one of which seemed to be hosting something of an end-of-summer party. 

At his feet, twenty four adders that had come to him as he crossed the Bodmin Moor slithered uncertainly on the alien ground. He looked down at them and said, "I'm going."

They hissed up, not precisely in words, but Tom could feel them wanting to leave the gritty sand, perhaps curl up on the rocks beside the Sea Pool. That was all right. The rocks were close, if he needed them. He let them go.

When the snakes were clear of his feet (and he heard a few surprised little screams from ladies in short, kicky swimsuits), he started down around the Pool. The ground was uneven and rocky, and he twisted his ankle nastily before he reached the far side, but by the time he'd made his way to the row of houses, he was at least certain that he'd come to the right place. Shiny automobiles blinked in the afternoon sun, and swing music blared from a scratchy phonograph. Someone called out, "Hey, Riddle... you're a bit low on the sauce, chum!" and someone else answered, "Oh, bugger it, you can open my father's crates in the basement. Better stuff anyway."

_I just heard my father's voice._

Tom stopped dead, a new and unpleasant feeling seeping across his chest like a running wound. His throat filled up with it and he bent over to try and sick it up, but nothing came.

_My father's voice._

When Tom had read his mother's letter, he'd felt a mild curiosity, followed by a growing fondness. He thought it fair enough to say he'd come to love her, as much as a person could love someone who had only seven hundred and sixty two words to share with him. But he hadn't longed for her or felt anything particularly upon seeing her handwriting. But...

_My father's voice. The man who is my father is in that house, bellowing about spirits and not knowing that his son is standing outside, listening to him._

The voice--even in its casual belligerence--had awakened a kind of gnawing hunger inside Tom, and he didn't like it at all. He had a job to do here, and it wasn't to daydream about 

_(My son? I never knew! All of you, look! This is my son!)_

anything. He had to be at school tomorrow, and there was a great deal to do before he got there.

For a moment, Tom stood balanced at the edge of a narrow road his back to the Sea Pool, his heels hanging slightly over the edge of a slope, enough to stretch the tendons in the back of his legs. A very calm, reasonable voice spoke into his mind: _Don't go there. Steal a car to go to London if you must, or better yet, ask a stranger for a ride, but don't feed your hunger with what is before you. It is poison._

He took a deep breath. He didn't _need_ to go there. The school had seen to his needs so far, with its cover story and its instructions; surely someone would take pity on him and...

His jaw clenched. He was _not_ going to accept someone's pity. If whatever was in that house was poison, so be it. It was _his_ poison, and he had the right to drink it if he wanted to. It belonged to him.

He stepped away from the edge of the road, and took a determined step toward the house.

The door burst open, and a tall man with sandy brown hair staggered outside. He leaned over the porch rail and vomited into a hydrangea bush, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swayed down the steps toward the Sea Pool. He didn't look up until he was almost on top of Tom, and when he did, there was no particular recognition in his eyes.

Well, maybe he'd _know_, anyway.

"Excuse me, sir," Tom said, ignoring the stench of brandy, "but I'm looking for Mr. Riddle."

"Which Mr. Riddle?" the man said.

"Mister... Well, Tom Riddle."

The man wiped his mouth again. "What d'you want with him? Who are you?"

Tom frowned, not wanting offer an explanation to a complete stranger. "I'm Tom Riddle," he said, without elaborating. The man would make of it whatever he wanted to, but it would perhaps be enough to gain entrance.

The man's drunken gaze narrowed, and he pulled himself upright. "You don't say."

The manners which had been drilled into Tom by Mrs. Masters for when he met with various sets of potential adoptive parents came back to him with ease, even if it _was_ only a drunk he was speaking to. "Yes, sir. I would like to speak to Mr. Riddle, if I may."

"Well, you're doing fine at it so far." He sniffed. "Where did you come from?"

Tom blinked, completely nonplused and at a loss for words. _This_ was the man for whom he was named? This common sot? There was no moment of recognition, no sign that he was any different from any of the other louts Tom had met in his life. His mother had died for _this_? There was nothing, no instant knowledge, no flash of fire in his blood, no connection at all. He was just a strange man who stank of brandy and vomit.

"Well, talk," he said. "Where did you come by my name?"

"My mother gave it to me."

"And who would _that_ be?"

"Your... " Tom tried to hide his consternation. Who _else_ would it be? He drew the letter out of his shirt. "Your wife. Mertysa..."

"Oh." Riddle snatched the letter disdainfully. "Her. Right, I'd forgotten." He read it briefly, then tossed it onto the sand.

Tom scrambled for it before the wind could catch it and throw it into the water. By the time he got up, his father had ambled down toward the water. He seemed to be sobering quickly, at any rate.

Riddle reached into his pocket and drew out a cigarette. He lit it with his hand cupped against the wind and looked out to sea. After a minute, he fumbled for another and held it out to Tom, who had caught up with him. "Care for a smoke?" he asked.

Tom wrinkled his nose. It was a filthy, smelly habit.

Riddle snorted. "Well, you look like her and you make the same faces. I suppose you've inherited her, er, _other_ talent as well, haven't you?" He shrugged. "Probably not so dangerous in a boy. Give you a good bit of fun, anyway."

"I'm a wizard," Tom said shakily. "If that's what you mean."

"Hmmm."

"Then you knew she was a witch?"

"Knew?" Riddle pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and tossed it toward the Sea Pool. It landed on a rock beside one of Tom's adders, which coiled up into an alert position and hissed angrily. Riddle didn't notice it. "Of course I knew. Bloody little wench must've put some sort of spell on me. As soon as she told me what she was, I figured it out. Sent her packing."

"She loved you. She says so." Tom held out the letter like a barrister offering evidence in a courtroom.

"They all say that." Riddle reached for the cigarette that was no longer in his mouth, then muttered something and lit the one he'd offered to Tom instead. He took a long breath, then blew out the smoke in a noxious cloud that flew into Tom's face. "Listen to me, boy, because this is the only man-to-man conversation you and I are ever going to have, whatever fantasies you may have to the contrary. Women make good amusements, but you'd be wise to know what they're really about if you're going to be around them. They want _money_. Mertysa was quite good-looking and I'd have been happy to show her a good time for as long as she showed me one, but she wanted more. Tricked me, as I said... they all will if they can, and she could." He took another drag. "I let the silly tramp convince me to live away from my family home, and she played at being the little wife, in command of all she surveyed. I told her I didn't want any little brats around, but she tricked me again, and here you are, big as life and looking just like her. Guess that bit her back some, though, didn't it?"

Tom curled his hand around the letter. What sort of woman _had_ his mother been, marrying someone like this? His stomach clenched. This fool, this cruel buffoon, was _part of him._ He wanted to rip it out. "She _died,_" he said, his jaw painfully tight.

"Mmm. Yes, she was a bit of an idiot. The doctor told her it would happen when she first got herself--"

"You _KNEW_?" Tom's hand tightened on the letter, twisting it into scrap. He shoved it into his pocket before he could do any more harm to it. "You knew about me? About her? About...?"

"I'd forgotten, as I said, but yes, I knew." Riddle blew another cloud of smoke. "Couldn't very well not know, with her asking for this money or that money, and couldn't I come and be there with her. Ruddy annoying. I told her I didn't want anything to do with it. I haven't changed my mind about that, so whatever you think you've come for, think again."

Tom felt the earth spinning beneath him, like someone had opened a whirlpool in the sand. He hadn't anticipated a warm reunion and didn't want one, but how could he... he was... what kind of man _was_ this? "You left me in that place," he whispered. "They cane me. They..."

"I told her to take care of the problem," Riddle said casually. To Tom, it sound like it was coming from far away and long ago, echoing against the water. "Even found her a doctor willing to do it. It was her, deciding to bring you into the world. If you want to have an argument, have it with her."

The wind was cold, wrapping him in an isolating chamber. Nothing outside of it was real. He was drowning. No one could reach inside to help. He stepped backward and lost his balance on the slope, sitting down hard on the rocks and almost sliding down toward the Sea Pool. His father looked blandly down at him. The letter was poking out of his pocket.

Tom sat, shaking, waiting for an answer, and when it came, it was words of the letter, but it was not in the soft voice he had imagined for his mother. The voice that spoke was high and cold. _There is so much for you to know,_ it said in his mother's words, _so much you are and so much you can become. You are descended from Salazar Slytherin, one of the greatest wizards ever to live, and I see his power in your eyes even as my own fades away from me..._

The shaking stopped. This dolt who dared to look down on him wasn't worth the pain he was causing. It was an accident, a freak of nature that they shared the same name.

Tom stood up. He took a deep breath. He had come here for a reason, after all, and he should never have allowed himself to be distracted from it. "I need money for school," he said.

Riddle shook his head. "I saw _that_ coming."

"I need money for school," Tom repeated, speaking slowly.

"I imagine you do. I don't see where it has a thing to do with me." Riddle took a final drag on his cigarette, then stomped it out on a rock. "Why don't you magic some of it up?"

Tom didn't bother answering him. Instead, he looked at four of the adders basking on the rocks, and whispered, "Surround."

"What do you think you're say--?" Riddle's eyes went wide. The snakes reared up out of the grass, behind and in front of him, to his right and his left. He started to move, and one of them dove at his foot. He jerked backward and nearly fell into another.

Tom watched him calmly. "I need money for school," he said again. He looked back at the other snakes and whispered, "Come on, then." They slithered forward, hissing and rearing their heads.

Riddle stood still. He was apparently bright enough to understand his situation without explanations. "You thieving little bastard," he said.

Tom just stared at him, not bothering to answer the insult. Then he shrugged.

Riddle reached into his pocket--not the one the cigarettes came from--and drew out a money clip stuffed with ten-pound notes. Either he was a fool or richer than Tom could imagine. He peeled off five of them and tossed them over the snakes' heads. Tom gathered them and put them in his pocket. He waited patiently.

"That's all you're getting," Riddle said.

"Angry," Tom whispered the snakes. More began lunging. Riddle kicked sand at them. A few of them started to attack without instructions, so Tom said, "Stop."

They fell docilely to the ground, waiting, coiled and hissing.

Riddle pulled the rest of the notes from the clip and threw them. Tom picked them up. He didn't know how much his school things would cost. "The clip, too," he said. "And your watch." He looked at Riddle's hands. "That emerald ring, too." He added up in his head what he thought he could get for it all, didn't think it would be enough for seven years, but decided that any further might be pushing it.

Riddle tossed the requested items out onto the stones. "This is the last you'll ever get from me," he said.

Tom shrugged again. "We'll see." He turned his back on his father, calling to most of the snakes to follow him. The original four, he left on guard duty.

"Your mother was nothing more than a tawdry tart with a crystal ball!" Riddle called after him. "And you're no part of me!"

_At least we have that sentiment in common._

Tom turned around to look at him one last time, a waste of a man held in check by four common adders. Tom called the snakes, letting the last one snap a good one to Riddle's ankle. One adder bite wouldn't kill him, and he'd have something to remind him that he had a son, in case he forgot again.

"Bastard!" Riddle yelled.

Tom let it roll over him. Being called a bastard by the man who'd made him one didn't have that much sting. He turned and walked away, his back to the setting sun.

Outside of Bude, a man in an automobile picked him up. They talked their way amiably to a bus station, and Tom caught a late bus to London. The man told his wife over dinner about the charming young boy he'd met, and when the bus driver clocked out that night, he was smiling... in these rude days, it was a relief to find a polite young person.

Tom spent the night at the bus station, not sleeping, and made his way as quickly as he could to the pub the school had written him about. A harried innkeeper told him that he'd missed the orientation--"It was a week ago, lad!"--but had his boy take Tom through an archway into another world. The errands, by necessity, were quick, and Tom enjoyed watching shopkeepers and bankers snap to their jobs to make sure he would make the train at eleven. A part of him wanted to run about, to see everything in this marvelous new place, but there was no time, and he wasn't a tourist here, at any rate. This was _his world_. It belonged to him to see whenever the chance presented itself.

Only the wand maker seemed to take his time, but it was the last stop. Tom rather enjoyed the attention he got there, the determination to match "such a powerful young wizard" with just the right wand. Yew and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Tom could feel it almost burning in his hand, and when he closed his eyes, he seemed to see it glowing with a green, eldritch light.

"This phoenix has never consented to give a feather before," the wand maker said importantly. "It is a powerful bird and this will be a powerful wand. I look forward to seeing what you do with it."

"So do I," Tom said. Quite reluctantly, he put the wand into his traveling bag. He found his hand wanting to touch it again every few minutes throughout the day.

He'd saved a ten-pound note in Muggle money for a taxicab, which dropped him at King's Cross with ten minutes to spare, and was whisked by a teenage girl he'd never seen before to a brick wall. She pushed him through it unceremoniously, and appeared a moment later. She was a bit of a shrew, bespectacled and bony. "Sorry for the rush," she said. "We've been keeping an eye for you. You have to be careful these days, as a half-blood, it can get you in--"

"I'm not a half-blood," Tom said, the phrase catching in his mind like a barbed hook. Half-blood? He was the descendent of a great wizard. The man in Cornwall with a healing snakebite on his ankle was no one who mattered.

The girl stopped. "Aren't you Tom Riddle?"

"Yes."

"I'm a prefect, Minerva McGonagall. Don't worry, no one else has been told, but we're to make sure that you're safe, what with Grindelwald's people about, and--"

"I'm not a half-blood," Tom said again, then put on the best smile he could find. "I'm purely me."

"Yes, all right, then." The prefect-girl looked at him oddly. "Well, you'd best get on board. You'll need to find a seat."

She disappeared into the bustling crowd of students bidding farewell to their parents, and Tom Riddle boarded the Hogwarts Express.

Novelty had always worn off quickly for Tom, and once it did, the train ride was unremarkable. Tom used it to watch the older students, and see how they behaved with one another. By the time he had arrived at Hogsmeade station, he'd joined a group of slightly older boys who lived in Slytherin House. He'd chosen them because of the serpent embroidered on their house badges--he felt a bit alone without his adders, though no one would drag such information from him--but the name flared in his mind as soon as they spoke it. He didn't ask the meaning of this (no reason to give away the fact he didn't know) but he stored the information. Salazar Slytherin, the great wizard, the one from whom he was descended. What did it matter if the man whose name he actually bore was nothing more than a common Muggle lout, when he had a forefather like that to look to?

He didn't notice who was in the boat with him as he crossed the lake, though he did his best to be charming and affable. The gamekeeper dropped them off at the foot of the stairs, and Tom looked eagerly upward.

His breath froze.

At the top of the stairs stood a red-haired wizard with piercing blue eyes. He frowned deeply when Tom met his gaze, looking puzzled and a bit disconcerted. It seemed to take a long time for that gaze to move on to the next student.

Finally, the wizard spoke. "I am Albus Dumbledore," he said. "In a few moments, your life at Hogwarts will begin as you are sorted into your houses. There are four: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house is ancient, each has produced witches and wizards of great acclaim. While you are here, your house will be your family..."

Tom smiled. He had no _idea_ how true that was.

The door opened, and Dumbledore led the first years inside. Tom paid no attention to the others; he was too busy taking in the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling, the rich tapestries, the fine robes of the teachers at the head table. He didn't register that Dumbledore was giving instructions again until that hard, cold stare fell on him, and silence in the Hall fell with it.

Tom looked up, expecting a scolding as he might get from Mrs. Masters, but Dumbledore didn't issue one. He simply _looked_ at Tom, and waited for attention, then went on about his business. He set a tattered hat on a stool.

To Tom's great annoyance, the hat began to sing.

_Long ago but quite close by  
Four sorcerers agreed  
To build a school for magic youth  
And teach them what they'd need.  
Side by side they worked for years,  
And toiled upon the land  
They gave in equal measure  
And each lent an equal hand.  
But even friendships of the great  
Can be shattered bare by strife  
And so among the Hogwarts four  
Was hatred sown so rife.  
Slytherin wished for purity,   
And Gryffindor, impure, his pride.  
Ravenclaw set herself apart  
And Hufflepuff took no side.  
The founders argued long and hard  
But could not make amends  
Finally, they turned to me  
Lest Hogwarts meet its end.  
To see that no mind was excluded  
Each gave me some to hold  
And now it's my sad duty  
To separate the fold.  
But do not think to turn your back  
On the brother at your side  
Or the sister standing by him  
No matter where they will bide.  
For Hogwarts and all Britain  
Are beset with hate and war  
And only with our unity  
Can we survive the storm.  
So come and hear me whisper  
The place where you belong  
Love it, yes, but do not forget  
The warning of my song.  
_

Tom looked to the walls for a clock and was startled not to find one. He'd never been in an institution like this without clocks on the walls. He'd have to get a watch if he was going to--

Again, his innards felt cold, and he looked up to see Albus Dumbledore watching him. He manufactured a smile, and Dumbledore looked away, but he didn't give Tom the returning smile that he'd usually get.

The hat went on.

_Gryffindor the bold sought out  
The bravest for his own  
And loved the daring students  
Who made his heart their home.  
_

In other words, Tom thought, Gryffindor House was for show-offs. 

_Hufflepuff built with care and love  
And her House still bears her sign  
In Hufflepuff dwell the tireless ones  
All striving to be kind.  
_

Tom wrinkled his nose. He'd read better verse on the wall of the boys' lavatory at the orphanage.

_Ravenclaw was home to wisdom  
To love of learning true  
If learning is your first love  
Then to Ravenclaw with you!  
_

Tom checked himself before he started looking for a clock again. So far, there was a house for playground bullies and a house for chumps. While Ravenclaw sounded livable (Tom genuinely enjoyed learning, and had taught himself to read at four) he hoped that the remaining house--his _family_ house--would be better.

_Slytherin chose the sly ones  
Who would do what must be done  
To gain the great advantage  
To see their battles won.  
_

That was more like it. _Slytherin,_ Tom thought hopefully. _That's _my_ House._ He felt a rush of pride. All his life he had been the outcast who came from nowhere, but now... now he was part of a thousand years of history. Not a small part either, if one of the school Houses was named for his ancestor.

The _best_ of the Houses.

_So come forward now and hear me speak  
The name of your new home  
But don't forget the larger truth:  
All Hogwarts is your own._

Everyone clapped, so Tom clapped as well. It seemed to be expected. Then Dumbledore began to read out names in alphabetical order. Tom kept track only of Slytherins, hoping that the house would not be over-assigned before he reached the R's. He didn't learn the names of the other first years.

Finally, after an endless wait for the hat to decide that _Quinlan, Elizabeth_ was in fact a Ravenclaw, Dumbledore paused. Again, he looked oddly at Tom, but when he spoke, his voice was as mild and distant as it was with everyone else: "Riddle, Tom."

Tom didn't run to the stool. He walked slowly, not wanting to chance embarrassing himself by tripping, but mostly not wanting to let anyone see eagerness. He picked up the hat and lowered it onto his head, letting the darkness fall over his eyes.

"Well," the hat said, "aren't you interesting."

Tom didn't answer it.

"Normally, I'd put you in Slytherin in a trice, but you may have trouble there in our present times... perhaps you would prefer to be in Ravenclaw, where--"

_Slytherin,_ Tom thought.

"It _is_ your home by birth," the hat mused. "But a half-blood will have difficulties..."

_I am not a half-blood._

"But your father--"

_Doesn't matter at all. I've seen him. He's none of me._

"You'll find it more difficult than that to--"

_I can handle things. That ugly prefect girl said they didn't know, anyway._

"They will hate you, Tom Riddle, if they learn that you--"

_Then they won't._

The hat didn't say anything else for a long, long time. At last, in a resigned way, it said, "There is no other house for you. I tried. Be wise, Riddle. And be careful in

_"SLYTHERIN!"_

**To be continued... in 1965.**


	4. September 1, 1965: A New Class, Part 1

**A/N**: This is the first multi-sort year. Part One introduces four firsties on the Hogwarts Express; Part Two will tell each of their Sortings in their points of view.

**Of A Sort**  
by FernWithy  
** September 1, 1965: A New Class   
Part One: The Hogwarts Express**

He stood alone, a stalwart lookout in the sea of humanity that crashed and pulsed beneath him--London, unaware and trusting, not knowing that only one thing stood between it and its final destruction.

Carefully, trying to fit in so as not to cause alarm, he slipped into a stream of his peers, alert to every movement, every wrong glance. Was the girl with the mousy brown hair just a bit _too_ nervous as her dark-haired sister led her through the crowd? Was the blonde boy's arrogance just a little _too_ calculated? Was he perhaps truly an ally, trying to fool the enemy?

He turned his head back to the arched entrance to the station, where a Muggle-born boy--was he _really_ a Muggle-born? Or was he in disguise?--stood uncertainly in his rolled-cuff blue jeans and a clean white t-shirt. The boy smiled at him in a dodgy sort of way.

Somewhere in this throng was the Villain, the threat, the doom of all wizardkind, and only one person could stand against him, only--

"_Gil_deroy _Lock_hart!" 

The voice cut across every level of activity on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, and everyone turned to look as Mummy made her way over to him, her handkerchief in one outstretched hand. She spit on it as she bent over him and started dabbing at a spot beside his nose. "There you are!" she said. "Madam Greenley and I misplaced you while Eddie was looking for a place to put your trunk. Dear me, you've gone and gotten yourself dirty again."

Gilderoy looked up at his classmates, many of whom were sniggering behind their hands. The arrogant looking blonde boy rolled his eyes and turned away, and the Muggle-born boy at the archway laughed (it wasn't a _mean_ laugh, at least, but it was obviously an "I saw that" sort of laugh). Only the mousy haired girl looked at him with any sympathy, but her dark haired sister sneered and put her fingers in front of her mouth to mimic Gilderoy's buck teeth, and made not-very-funny faces and bunny hopped around until a grown-up came along.

Mummy, meanwhile, noticed none of this. She finished cleaning Gilderoy's face, then kissed his cheek (following this with another swipe with the handkerchief to get rid of her lipstick). "Now, Daddy is sending all your favorite books by post," she said. "They didn't fit in your trunk. As soon as you know which dormitory you'll be in, you let us know, and we'll send you your shelves. And don't worry, Cook will make sure you get lots of treats while you're away. Now, do you have your wand?"

Gilderoy held up his new wand, shiny in the sunlight that came hazily through the windows in the ceiling.

Mummy beamed at him. "My little wizard," she cooed, mussing his hair. "What a handsome darling you are. Don't you break any hearts!" She stood and put her hand on his shoulder, looking for all the world like she intended to board the train with him.

This time, Gilderoy could actually _hear_ the sniggering. "Mummy," he said softly. "Can't I go on the train alone?"

"Now why would you want to do that? I'll just come along and help you settle a bit."

"Mummy, please..."

Just then a wizard in rich velvet robes came to her. "Mrs. Lockhart," he said kindly, "the train is reserved for students. Even I will need to Apparate back to Hogsmeade after taking care of personal business in London, and I'm the new Headmaster."

Mummy looked at the man with surprise. "Oh, but surely a mother can..."

"I'm afraid the rules are quite clear. The Hogwarts Express is for students. Could I take you to the place where the other parents will watch the train leave?" The man winked over his half-moon spectacles at Gilderoy.

"Well, I--"

But the new headmaster was already leading Mummy away. She blew a kiss in Gilderoy's general direction, and he caught it dutifully, as was right and fitting for a hero of his stature, who could certainly bear the affections of the woman who gave him life.

He straightened his shoulders and looked at the other students, many of whom were still laughing into their hands. Little did they know of the danger which would await them, the horrors that they would have to face, and when he rescued them, as of course he would, they would be sorry for looking down at him.

The queue of students waiting to board the train finally moved, and Gilderoy let his highly sharpened senses awaken again. He could see the headmaster with several parents as they passed the archway. Gilderoy nodded solemnly to him, having understood the man's unspoken request. He couldn't remain with the train, so it was now in Gilderoy's able hands to keep his classmates safe.

As they thronged onto the train, Gilderoy allowed himself to be jostled back and forth, on the chance that one of the jostlers would reveal himself as the great threat... a dark creature, perhaps. Not a vampire, not at eleven in the morning, but perhaps the human familiar to one, which was even now concealed in one of the trunks, to be released on the school when--

"Hey!"

He tripped forward into an empty compartment, a sharp pain at the back of his head. When he turned around, the arrogant blonde boy he'd noticed earlier was staring at him, hand still raised, an expression of amused disdain on his face. Behind him were the sisters, the dark sister leading the other one by pulling on her earlobe. The older sister had a Slytherin badge on her robes; the other two seemed to be first years. The younger sister smiled at him apologetically, but didn't say anything.

"Oh, look Lucius," the dark-haired girl said. "A completely empty compartment." She swept past Gilderoy, pushing him disdainfully as she went. "Except for our little house elf, here."

Gilderoy, still off-balance from tripping, fell to the floor, and the blonde boy, Lucius, went out of his way to step ostentatiously over him. Something hot and sickening rose up in Gilderoy's throat, and he found that when he tried to get up, he couldn't. He looked away from Lucius and the girl.

He felt something warm on his arm and made himself look around. The girl with light brown hair was crouched down beside him. "Are you all right? Gilderoy, isn't it?"

Gilderoy nodded. He didn't want to talk.

"Tell the elf to put our trunks away, Andromeda," the dark-haired girl said breezily.

The sister--Andromeda, Gilderoy supposed--frowned. "Let him be, Bella. He didn't do anything."

"And he doesn't _need_ to do anything, except put our trunks up." Bella wrinkled her nose at Gilderoy. "Get about it, elf."

"You don't have to," Andromeda told him. "I'll do it. You go find somewhere to sit."

She started to move to the trunks, which were in the corridor, but Bella was up like a shot, and grabbed her back, dragging her to the seats. "I told the elf to do it," she said. "You're a Black." One long leg kicked out, the foot connecting with Gilderoy's backside. "Do it, elf," she said.

Lucius, who had just been sitting and watching with silent amusement, now gave a bored-sounding sniff and turned to Bella. He opened a small travel bag. "My parents gave me much better sweets than we'll get on board. Would you like one, Bella?"

Bella looked into the bag and pointed at two or three items. "I'll have those," she said. "If you're sorted into Slytherin, you should put some of these out in the Common Room."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "_If_," he said. "Bella, my family is _always_ in Slytherin, same as yours."

Gilderoy lugged the trunks into the compartment, straining with effort. He wasn't used to physical labor, and found that he didn't want to become used to it.

"Overhead bins," Bella said, smiling wickedly.

"Those are heavy," Andromeda said. "No one could put them up there without magic."

"Well, is he a wizard or isn't he?" Lucius asked.

"He's a first year, same as we are," Andromeda said. "He only just got his wand. I'd bet _you_ can't levitate the trunks up there."

"Of course I can," Lucius said. "_My_ family doesn't hold with this nonsense about holding off training for eleven years. I know quite a lot."

Andromeda adopted a form of her sister's commanding drawl. "Do you? I don't believe you. _I've_ never seen you do anything. I think you're all talk."

Lucius raised his wand, but Bella slapped his arm down and said, "You're an idiot."

"I'm perfectly capable of--"

"--falling for my baby sister's tricks? You'll end up in Hufflepuff."

"I--"

Something sharp hit Gilderoy in the ribs. He looked up and was shocked to see that it was Andromeda, poking him hard with the tip of her boot. She looked significantly at Bella and Lucius, who were quarreling, then looked at the door, then looked at Gilderoy.

Gilderoy frowned.

_Out_, she mouthed.

Gilderoy understood it this time. Bella and Lucius were entirely focused on calling one another names, and both had lost interest in him. He scrambled backward out of the compartment and pulled himself to his feet in the corridor just as he heard Bella suddenly shout, "Where's my elf? _Andromeda!_"

Gilderoy kept running. He would not be able to rescue the fair maiden until he had regrouped and gathered himself, possibly put together a team of able assistants. He could only hope now that she had the strength to withstand her captivity long enough for him to mount a proper rescue. 

He finally came to a small side compartment where a trolley full of candies was stored. He moved a few candies aside and slid onto the bottom shelf, closing the curtains around him, so that he could think more clearly about how to rout the villains. Perhaps he could call upon the dragons in the hills, or use one of the many complex spells he knew. Perhaps he could--

_"When I was younger, so much younger than today-ay-ay..."_

Gilderoy frowned. The singing voice was high, warbly, and badly off-key. The tune was one he'd never heard before. It was coming closer.

_"I never needed anybody's help in any way..."_

Footsteps came into the compartment and the curtains moved as the singer leaned over the cart. The voice was now directly above Gilderoy.

_"But now those days are gone I'm not so self-assu-u-ured..."_

Things shifted on the top shelf.

_"Now I finally wonder... what's all this weird candy for?..."_

Gilderoy had never heard the song before, but he rather suspected those weren't the real words. The singer had gone on to just keep the tune on "bom-BOM, bom-BOM," his legs twitching around and flipping the curtains.

This wouldn't do. Gilderoy simply couldn't plan a complex rescue with this popping music in his head.

He reached out and opened the curtain.

The singing boy jumped back--Gilderoy caught only a glimpse of rolled-cuff blue jeans--then there was a clunking sound as he tripped over the long laces of his sneakers. He muttered something, then bent down into Gilderoy's frame of vision and flipped his long bangs out of his eyes. "Wotcher, mate," he said. "What're you doing down there? Gave me a start."

Gilderoy sniffed and started to climb off the bottom shelf. His legs didn't quite want to make it.

The other boy held out his hand. "Here--grab on."

It wasn't embarrassing at all. Maybe this boy had been sent by the Ministry to help Gilderoy in his quest, a valet of sorts. Once he was extricated from the cart, he stood up straight and held out his hand. "I," he said, bowing and flourishing his robe like a cloak, "am Gilderoy Lockhart."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," the other boy said jauntily, grinning and holding out his hand to be shaken. "Ted Tonks."

Gilderoy shook his hand. He was probably undercover, and it would be bad form to break their secret identities as battlers of evil. "Pleased to have you aboard, Ted," he said.

"Thanks." Ted said this with a great deal of gratitude, smiling widely. "Not many people seem all that glad to see me here."

"You're Muggle-born, aren't you?"

Ted nodded. "Shows?"

Gilderoy shrugged. He had never met a Muggle-born before and his family had nothing to do with Muggles, but he'd never had anything particularly _against_ them. Mummy had made him study her school books so he would know any Muggle-borns when he saw them, but she said that he shouldn't be unkind to them. They would need special help getting around.

"Don't worry," he said, "you'll learn your way. If you have any questions, you can ask me."

"Great." Ted pointed at the top of the trolley. "What are all these things?"

It seemed a frivolous question, what with a maiden to rescue and all, but a hero and his valet needed to form a partnership over _something_, and candies seemed like a good enough start, as long as it didn't take too long. Gilderoy began pointing out Cauldron Cakes and Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Ted looked on with interest, but after awhile, Gilderoy noticed that his fingers were snapping and his toes tapping manically.

"Is something _wrong_?" he asked pointedly.

Ted looked surprised, then stopped moving. "Sorry. I've a song stuck in my head."

"Hmmm."

"So which is your favorite?" Ted asked, sweeping his hand over the trolley.

"I'm fond of Cauldron Cakes." Gilderoy sighed. They would need to get about their rescue mission _soon_.

"Reckon I should try them all. What sort of money do they cost? I went to the orientation, but I don't remember. The brass ones are the least, right?"

Gilderoy was about to resign himself to explaining money--to a boy of a eleven!--when a softer voice appeared behind them. "Excuse me?"

Both boys turned.

Gilderoy was very disappointed. It was the fair maiden, who apparently would not need to be rescued after all. "You escaped?" he asked.

She smiled. There was a bright red mark on her left ear shaped like a long finger, and a tiny cut at the end of it was pushing out a slow bead of blood. "Usually. I'm sorry about my sister. I'd say she's not always like this, but she is." The bead of blood broke and ran, and Andromeda seemed to notice it for the first time as it flowed around the curves of her ear. "Blast," she said, touching it with her finger and drawing it away with distaste. "I wish she'd cut her nails."

Ted, who had fallen silent and wasn't twitching his feet anymore, sprang into action. He pulled a clean white handkerchief from his jeans pocket and offered it to her with an idiot grin.

"Thank you," she said, taking it and dabbing daintily at her ear. "I've met Gilderoy already, but I don't think I know you."

Ted just continued goggling at her.

"His name is Ted Tonks," Gilderoy said, thinking that it was a name that would _never_ sound dignified, no matter who was using it. "He's Muggle-born."

Andromeda looked over her shoulder in a sudden, panicked move, then relaxed and turned around again. "I'm Andromeda Black." She looked at Gilderoy. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Bella's a bit rough sometimes."

Gilderoy felt himself blushing, but Ted didn't seem to be laughing at him for hiding from a girl--er, for needing to regroup after confronting one--so he decided not to make any more of it than was necessary. He'd picked up vital information about the enemy, at any rate, and had two allies. In all, it was a fruitful day so far.

"I really don't feel like sitting with my sister and her little protégé," Andromeda said. "Are you two sitting anywhere?"

"I hadn't found a place," Ted said. He took a step forward and tripped on his laces again.

Andromeda reached out and caught him, pushing him back up and laughing a little. "You might tie those up shorter," she said.

Ted shrugged and went back to his wordless grinning.

Gilderoy caught himself shuffling his feet and made himself stop. "Maybe we could just stay here."

"I don't think so," Andromeda said, pointing to her side. Gilderoy poked his head around the door frame, and saw an angry looking witch coming at them.

"What are you three doing in there? That's not for students! You'd best not have stolen anything!"

"No, ma'am," Ted said, finding his voice and coming out into the corridor. "Nothing." He turned out his pockets to prove it.

"Hmmph. Well, you've no business in here, so all three of you, run along now."

She herded them out. Andromeda was smiling again. Ted seemed to have found his stride, and as they walked down the corridor, he was snapping his fingers again and doing a little dance, singing, "BOM-bom-BOM-bom-BOM..." He hit one of the compartment doors in the rhythm of the song, and someone yelled for him to stop. He smiled sheepishly. "Sorry," he said as they came to a compartment that was occupied only by one older student, who was sleeping with his head on a rolled up Gryffindor scarf against the window. They went in.

"He has a song in his head," Gilderoy informed Andromeda when he noticed her looking curiously at Ted's snapping fingers, lowering his voice to avoid awakening the older boy. "At least he claims it's a song."

"It _is!_" Ted insisted. "It's... well, everyone _I_ know knows it. Have you ever heard the Beatles?"

Gilderoy tried not to laugh. Andromeda smiled politely and said, "Er, I've used a lot of beetles in things. I don't think they sing. Did you do a spell on some? Is that how they found you?"

"Not bugs," Ted said, his awkwardness totally disappearing in what appeared to be genuine dismay. "They're a music group, out of Liverpool. _Everyone_ knows the Beatles!"

"I've never heard Muggle music," Gilderoy said. "My mother prefers the wizard harpists."

Ted looked hopefully at Andromeda, but she shook her head. "I'm not allowed to listen to Muggle music."

"Oh." Ted sighed and looked somewhat crestfallen. "I brought my records, but I forgot I wouldn't be able to play them."

"Why don't you teach us a song?" Andromeda asked brightly.

"I thought you weren't allowed."

She glanced around the compartment. "My mum is back in London." Her face was flushed, and Gilderoy thought she was very afraid, but she kept smiling. "I won't tell her if you don't, and since she won't talk to you, I guess you won't tell."

Ted smiled in plain happiness. "What do you say, Gilderoy? Do you want to learn a song?"

It struck Gilderoy that there were more important things to think about, but he couldn't think of any of them just now, so he decided to play along.

For the next half hour, Gilderoy Lockhart and Andromeda Black sat perched in the corner of the compartment, while Ted stood in front of them like a conductor, trying to teach them the strange words to a song called "Help!" which he claimed was _very_ popular in the Muggle world. It seemed to Gilderoy a bit of a silly song, and he gave up after the first half-hour, though Andromeda and Ted were still having a lot of fun. She'd mastered the words and the melody, and sung it through in a thin but pretty soprano, and now Ted was trying to teach the harmony, and botching it badly, since he could hardly carry the main tune himself.

Well, perhaps Gilderoy could do without allies.

"_But now_," Ted sang, then broke off. "And there, you go up a little higher and sing right over me. Go on. _But now--_"

"_But now..._" Andromeda sang.

"_Those days are gone, I'm not so self assu-u-ured, now I finally--_"

The door of the compartment banged open suddenly. Andromeda's sister, Bella, stood in the corridor. Behind her, the boy Lucius had his wand raised. Bella's face was pale, with high red marks on her cheeks. Gilderoy fancied that steam would begin pouring from her ears and nostrils very soon. 

But when she spoke, her voice was soft and deadly. "Andromeda," she said. She didn't look at either Gilderoy or Ted.

"I just went off to sit on my own, Bella..."

"What do you think you're doing with these..." Bella's gaze moved from Ted to Gilderoy, then back to Ted, where it remained, a look of loathing on her face. Finally, she turned back to Andromeda. "_What_ were you doing? What was that nonsense you were"--she wrinkled her nose--"_singing?_"

"It's just a song," Ted said.

Bella didn't look at him. She simply stuck out her arm and pointed her wand in his direction. Being in the same general direction, Gilderoy decided that the best strategic choice would be to get behind the shelter of the sleeping student's trunk. "I wasn't talking to you, Mudblood. This is between my sister and me."

Ted took a step toward her wand, snapping fingers forgotten. "Actually," he said, "it's between your sister and _me_."

"Don't," Andromeda said. "I'll take care of it."

Bella ignored her sister entirely, instead grabbing Ted by his shirt and pushing him against the wall. "There is nothing that is between you and any Black, Mudblood. Go back to your own world."

Andromeda grabbed Bella's arm and pried it off of Ted, digging her fingernails in deep enough for Gilderoy to see red marks when Bella pulled away, looking shocked.

"Let up, Bella," Andromeda said sharply. Her hand was still curled strangely, like a cat about to paw at its prey. Gilderoy ducked further behind the trunk.

There was silence for a moment, and Gilderoy closed his eyes, trying to think of a way out.

Then Bella, apparently done with her surprise, said, "Well. And here I was beginning to wonder whether or not you'd fit in the Common Room."

Gilderoy opened his eyes and peeked carefully around the trunk. The Black sisters were staring at one another, Bella smiling with fake gentleness, Andromeda holding her jaw steady with so much effort that it was almost trembling anyway.

Bella glanced quickly into the compartment, took in the older student--still, astonishingly, sleeping--and backed into the corridor, still smiling. "I'll see you in your dormitory tonight," she said. "After the Sorting."

She swept out.

Lucius remained in the door a bit longer, not saying anything, just scanning the compartment with amusement. He spotted Gilderoy, waved, then raised his wand.

Gilderoy ducked out of the way just as a weak spell hit the floor beside him, then he heard the door close.

He came out from behind the trunk and put a comforting hand on Andromeda's shoulder. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be looking out for you."

**To be continued... at the Sorting Ceremony.**


	5. September 1, 1965: A New Class, Part 2

**Of A Sort**  
by FernWithy  
**September 1, 1965: A New Class   
The Sorting Ceremony**

**~Andromeda Black~**

_I'll see you in your dormitory tonight. After the Sorting._

Andromeda forced her hands to stop shaking as Bella disappeared down the corridor. She tried not to look at Ted and Gilderoy; if it weren't for her, they wouldn't have had to see that. They'd probably want her to go, and she knew she should, but she'd been having _fun_.

"That's a mess, isn't it?" Ted said casually. "Do you want to go back to the song?"

Andromeda blinked. The words to the song had gone completely out of her head. "No, I... well, maybe I should go."

"You want to go back to that?"

"Not really, but..."

Ted shrugged and gestured at the seat, suggesting, she supposed, that she sit back down. After awhile, she did.

_I'll see you in your dormitory tonight. After the Sorting._

It hadn't been a good day with Bella all around, and it sounded like she planned to top it off with something quite unpleasant.

They'd stayed at Grimmauld Place last night, so the voyage to King's Cross Station would be less time consuming. It was enough of a strain, Mother said, to be expected to deal with the Muggles they would undoubtedly have to avoid at the station; she did not care to be in a rush when she did it. Bella had suggested Apparating there and then Obliviating everyone's memory.

"My clever girl," Mother had said, brushing Andromeda's hair. "But the Ministry might frown."

Andromeda bit her lip. Bella was joking. Probably. And certainly _Mother_ was. "Do they stare, there at the Station?" she asked. "The Muggles?"

"Muggles are too foolish to see, let alone stare," Mother said. She tapped the brush with her wand to wet it again. "There's not much more to be done with your hair, Andromeda. I think it's lying as flat as it will today. Bella, promise me that once she's mastered some basic charms, you'll teach her to manage her hair?"

Bella nodded. Her own hair fell in two perfectly flat and shiny black sheets around her face. Andromeda's was wavy and fluffy, and a shade of mundane brown that had always looked out of place in the family, almost more childish than little Narcissa's carefully done pigtails.

Auntie had given them use of Kreacher the house elf for the day, and between Kreacher and their own elves, the luggage was already loaded into a Charmed Muggle car. Andromeda was looking forward to the ride. The vehicle had been bought last year for Bella's sake, but it was treated with great distaste and Andromeda hadn't been allowed to go for a ride in it, no matter how often she asked. Bella just stood in the doorway, wrinkling her nose at it, the house elves scurrying around her.

On the stairs, Narcissa was sitting primly, watching the goings on with a good imitation of detachment. A few risers down, their cousin Sirius was weeping inconsolably. Andromeda sat down beside him. "I'll be back for Christmas, just like always."

"You only just came, and now you're leaving."

"In a few years, you'll be able to go to school with me."

He sniffed. "I could go now. I'm smart enough. I can read and write. And I can do spells."

"Well, you're not supposed to." Andromeda kissed his cheek. "Why don't you go up and play with Narcissa? I think she could do with a playmate."

Both of the younger children looked at her with expressions of horror so perfectly identical that she almost laughed. 

She kissed Sirius's cheek again--whatever else was to be said about her half-spoiled, half-ignored little cousin, any sane person had to admit that he had the most kissable cheeks in London--then stood up. Narcissa scrambled up the stairs, as though afraid that she too might be kissed. 

Andromeda dropped her a curtsey and a wink instead. Narcissa was probably a lost cause, being much more prone to playing along with Bella's jokes than Andromeda's fantasies, but she was the only little sister Andromeda had, and heaven knew she was at least better than Bella.

"Time to go."

Bella's long nails dug into her arm and she felt herself dragged down the stairs. Andromeda barely registered this sort of thing anymore. Bella had always seen her duty as eldest as being largely concerned with leading Andromeda around by handy appendages; there was a photograph in the parlor at home showing two-year-old Bella tugging one-year-old Andromeda around by her big toe, smiling mischievously.

"Write to me!" Sirius called. "Please! I can owl you back!"

"I'll write," Andromeda promised as Bella dragged her out the door.

"You'll forget," Bella said, then stuck her head back inside. "Hey, Sirius!"

"What?"

"You won't know her when she comes back."

She ducked back out and slammed the door on Sirius's howl.

It had gone on like that all the way to King's Cross and onto the Platform, where Bella had spotted poor, bucktoothed little Gilderoy Lockhart even before his mother had caused a scene, and when they'd met up with the Malfoys, Lucius had joined her as he always did. Andromeda normally didn't object to Lucius joining Bella, as it meant he wasn't making an effort ot socialize with _her_, which they both hated, no matter how often they'd been forced to go through it. Loathing of their enforced companionship was the only thing they agreed on. But Lucius and Bella had turned their cruelties on some poor stranger who had done nothing to them as soon as they were out of adult sight, and that, Andromeda objected to.

So naturally, Andromeda had responded by picking a fight with her sister and Lucius before she even _reached_ school. It had to be some sort of record. She couldn't think what else she might have done--well, other than leaving well enough alone once she'd ascertained that Gilderoy was all right--but it wasn't going to be pleasant in Slytherin tonight.

_Maybe you wont _be_ there._

She didn't allow herself to hope. She was a Black. Blacks were Slytherins. She'd just have to take whatever Bella had in mind.

"Are you all right?" Ted Tonks asked. "I mean, are you really?"

She looked around. "Yes, I..." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Ted. I think I've got you in a bit of trouble. My sister doesn't like... well..." She pointed vaguely at his clothes.

"Blue jeans?"

"Muggle-borns," Gilderoy said impressively. "Don't worry, though. I plan to defend the Muggle-borns with my life if necessary." He struck a heroic pose, and Ted grinned over his head at Andromeda. 

She smiled back, hoping against hope that Bella would leave him alone later. She certainly wouldn't deign to fight fair with a Mudblood.

About thirty minutes out of Hogsmeade, the two boys changed into school robes--Andromeda had worn hers--and went to wait in the corridor to collect Ted's and Gilderoy's pets from the luggage well. According to Bella, the witch who chaperoned the train (and sold candy from the cart) wanted to eliminate the luggage well and have all students, even first years, keep their baggage with them at all times. "It won't happen, though," she said confidently. "Who is she, anyway? Just a servant."

A seventh year girl, slightly pudgy with bright red hair, was keeping the line in order. While the boys went in, she held Andromeda out. "It's a bit crowded," she apologized. "No more than two at a time, and as you haven't got a pet..."

"It's all right."

"That's why they're thinking of changing the rule. Just takes a bit too long."

Gilderoy came out with a fine owl in a golden cage, and Ted had a sort of white plastic basket with a blanket tied over the top. Inside of it, an exceptionally ugly, fat, scarred tomcat was purring ecstatically and trying to poke his large paws through to pat Ted's arm. "This is Dodger," he said. "That's from _Oliver Twist_. He was stealing food from the garbage so I started feeding him. Mum said I'd best bring him with me, because she's not going to keep doing it." He grinned. "Well, they _did_ say we could have a cat, right?"

They were instructed to leave the rest of their baggage where it was when they disboarded; presumably the school elves would bring it inside.

A huge young man with long hair and a wild beard met them at the edge of the lake, smiling brightly. "Firs' years!" he called out. "Firs' years, over here!"

"I can't believe _he's_ still here," Andromeda heard someone say a few feet to her left. She turned to see Bella, her back turned, shaking her head in Lucius Malfoy's general direction. "What an oaf," she went on. "He used to be the apprentice, but they made him groundskeeper in the middle of last year. He's one of the headmaster's favorites. _Honestly._ Dumbledore will take anyone. The only good thing about him being headmaster is that at least I don't have to sit through class with him."

Thankfully, Bella was swept away with the older students and Lucius made a mad dash for any boat that didn't contain Andromeda. Andromeda rode with Ted and Gilderoy and their animals. Ted fell silent upon seeing the castle, and a wide smile came across his face. He bit his lip. Andromeda wouldn't say anything, but she thought he might be crying a little. Gilderoy, meanwhile, had to be pulled back from standing at the prow of the boat like a conquerer (the boat listed wickedly, but thankfully didn't overturn). 

A black-haired witch wearing a tall hat with a tartan brim met them at the castle and led them into the Great Hall--pets were left outside, to Dodger's very vocal disappointment--where an old hat sat on a stool in a place of prominence. Andromeda was paying attention only to the Hat when she felt a sharp pain in her elbow and was yanked back.

"Tonight," Bella hissed. "After the Sorting."

"Miss Black!" the black-haired teacher, Professor McGonagall, said, sounding exasperated. "You haven't even been back an hour."

Bella let go and smoothed Andromeda's sleeve. "Sorry, Professor," she said. "Just wishing my sister good luck."

McGonagall frowned, but obviously wanted to keep the Sorting moving along. She led Andromeda back to the others. On the stool, the hat moved, seeming to look from side to side, as if a small animal lived inside of it. When everyone was quiet, it cleared its throat and sang.

"_In misty days when I was new--   
The world was smaller then--  
There was no place for those to go  
Who for learning had a yen...._"

Andromeda rolled her eyes, smiling. She'd read a book called _Hogwarts: A History_ when Bella left last year. She knew much of the history the Hat was singing about--the Four Founders, the Houses, even the split. She knew everything except the Hat itself. When Bella had insisted on keeping it a secret, she'd assumed the process for Sorting was involved and frightening; the Hat was a welcome and pleasant surprise.

_I'll see you in your dormitory tonight. After the Sorting._

The thought stabbed through her mind out of nowhere, and she shoved it away. Bella made threats; it was what she did. Andromeda had lived with her sister for a long time, and she could handle anything Bella had in mind.

Glancing over at Ted, she could see that he was quite enraptured by the song, and his eyes kept flickering to the enchanted ceiling. It made her happy for some reason she couldn't quite fathom--it was like seeing a world she'd always known with a whole new light poured through it.

When the Hat had finished its song, Professor McGonagall stepped to the front of the group. "Now, first years, when I call your name, you will come forward and be Sorted." She unrolled a parchment and looked over her spectacles. "Black, Andromeda."

Andromeda stepped forward and sat down on the stool. McGonagall handed her the Hat. She held it for a moment and it nodded toward her vaguely, then she put it on her head. It slipped smoothly over her hair and darkness enveloped her.

"Well..." the Hat said, then said nothing else.

_Slytherin,_ Andromeda thought. 

"No," the Hat said thoughtfully. "No, you're not a Slytherin."

Andromeda almost fell forward off the stool. _But... my family... we've always been..._

"Nonsense." The Hat's tone was entirely dismissive, and it went back to its deliberations. Andromeda sat still, not having the faintest idea what to expect--all of her visions of herself at Hogwarts had included Slytherin, and while she had not especially wanted it, life at home could become difficult rather quickly. The Hat gave a sigh. "No," it said, "not Slytherin, but where? Your mind is sharp enough, and I see a great deal of kindness in you, and courage. In fact, all I _fail_ to see in you is ambition."

_I_ am _ambitious!_ Andromeda thought with some irritation. She had plans as much as anyone else did, and--

There was a soft, cloth-y sound that came into Andromeda's mind as laughter. "Very well, you have ambition, but it doesn't rule you."

_All right, then._

"Well, that decides it at any rate. Yes, you would have done well in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but my dear, you will be your truest self in

_"GRYFFINDOR!"_

**~Gilderoy Lockhart~**

Andromeda Black stood up and put the Sorting Hat back on the stool. She looked over at the Slytherin table, her face white with two high spots of color, and--to Gilderoy Lockhart's astonishment, since she was obviously terrified--stuck her tongue out at her sister. Gilderoy could hear someone hissing even over the cheers that erupted at the Gryffindor table when Andromeda joined them. He saw one of the older students--the redheaded girl who'd overseen the luggage compartment, he thought--throw a red and gold scarf over her shoulders, while a redheaded boy who Gilderoy strongly suspected was _not_ the older girl's brother clapped Andromeda on the back. Apparently, sticking one's tongue out at the Slytherin table was admired in Gryffindor quarters.

Beside him, Ted Tonks leaned in a little closer. "Where d'you reckon you'll be?" he asked as Professor McGonagall called for "Candlemas, Richard."

"Gryffindor," Gilderoy said calmly. Where else would he be Sorted? Even if he had not quite accomplished an act of heroism yet, the Hat would see into his mind and know that he was a hero inside. "Perhaps you'll be there as well. We could keep up with our partnership from the train."

Ted shook his head. "I don't know. I only do that--you know, fighting with people--if I have to. I don't much like it. If a fight's coming at me, I'll duck it if I can."

Someone sniffed loudly, and Gilderoy looked over his shoulder. Lucius Malfoy was listening to them with disgust. "Coward," he said. "Mudblood coward."

"Dexter, Persephone."

Ted's face went red, and Gilderoy could see his hands flexing into fists--pretty big fists for an eleven year old, and judging by the scars on his fingers, he hadn't actually managed to duck that many fights. But he didn't turn or acknowledge Lucius.

Gilderoy straightened up. "You shouldn't say that," he whispered firmly to Lucius. "It's rude."

Lucius raised an eyebrow. He'd opened his mouth to speak when another voice interrupted. "I have not had to teach this lesson _during_ a Sorting for some time," Professor McGonagall said, "but when I am speaking, you are not."

Lucius snapped his mouth shut and stepped back. As soon as McGonagall turned around again, he put his fingers in front of his mouth to mimic Gilderoy's teeth, just as Bella had at King's Cross. 

Gilderoy felt his face flush and turned back to the Sorting, which had moved on to "Drear, Edgar," who became a Slytherin. Somewhere, he'd seen a Charm to fix his teeth. He determined to find that spell if he had to read every book in the library to do it.

While "Eastman, Elizabeth" was sorted into Hufflepuff, he felt a sharp point between his shoulders. A wand tip.

He didn't move his head to look, but he could see Lucius Malfoy out of the corner of his eye. He took a few steps forward and slid as unobtrusively as he could in front of Ted Tonks.

"Forrester, Katherine" ("_GRYFFINDOR!_")... "Holbine, Anne" ("_RAVENCLAW!_")...

Gilderoy bit his lip. The moment was coming, the moment when his inner self would finally be revealed for all the world to see. "Kilbourne, Mary-Louise" ("_SLYTHERIN!_")... "Kilbourne, Michael" ("_GRYFFINDOR!_")--those two would have interesting holidays--then...

"Lockhart, Gilderoy."

Gilderoy walked forward slowly, shoulders squared, to take his place in the world. He sat down on the stool and looked out over the sea of faces in the Great Hall. They weren't paying attention now, not yet, but they would soon. He put on the Sorting Hat.

It slipped over his head entirely and came to rest above his shoulders, not even catching on his ears.

A voice in his ear laughed softly. "Well then... what have we here?"

Gilderoy frowned. He didn't care for the Hat's tone.

"Perhaps Slytherin," the Hat mused, sounding amused and not at all serious.

_I think not!_

"Do you?"

_Of course not. I'm hardly of their ilk._

"Aren't you?"

_You don't see _me_ calling people Mudbloods._

"There is more to Slytherin House than that. You certainly are willing to go to great lengths to stay out of trouble, and yet you have a great deal of ambition, and you mean to live up to it."

_I am brave,_ Gilderoy said.

The Hat laughed again. "You are creative," it said.

Gilderoy sniffed, but didn't answer the Hat.

"Hmmm. Yes, I know... Yes, I think that's right."

Gilderoy ground his teeth, not wanting to give the Hat the satisfaction of being asked, but it kept not going on with it. _What? What's right?_

"If you really don't care for Slytherin, I won't put you there, though I think you would like it better than you imagine."

_Honestly!_

"Then again, your imagination is quite active."

_I..._

"I can see it, you know. You live inside your mind, don't you?"

_Perhaps..._

"And that is why you're going to

"_RAVENCLAW!_"

**~Lucius Malfoy~**

Lucius barely listened to the Sorting after, by some miracle, Andromeda Black had gone into Gryffindor. Her family would hate it. Lucius was relieved. Perhaps he would never again be forced to look at her dull hair and too-wide mouth at dinner again, let alone spend a whole evening watching her frown at his jokes and wrinkle her ugly nose at him.

He'd had to do that as long as he could remember. She was a Black, and she had been born the same year he had--there were certain things that had always been _expected_. 

He'd always thought it unfair that he was expected to be attentive to Andromeda. Bella was pretty and clever, and they got on well. The little one, Narcissa, always laughed when she was allowed to tag along, and Lucius supposed she would be passably nice-looking someday. But no--just because of bad luck in birthdays, _he_ had been stuck with the thick-lipped little mouse who had no sense of humor at all.

He'd never thought the word "Gryffindor" would sound so liberating. 

Mother and Father would want him to keep as much of a distance from Andromeda as possible now. They would let him visit with Bella instead when the families met. Bella was _far_ prettier, _and_ she laughed at his jokes. Freedom from Andromeda Black... _that_ was something to note in his journal. An important day.

Bella wasn't pleased, of course, and Lucius would offer the proper amount of outrage, but inside, he thought he might simply break into song, go flying, shout from the rooftops.

When he'd gotten to the train station this morning, Father had immediately walked him over to the Black sisters and stood him next to Andromeda. She looked quite as annoyed with it as he was. As soon as Father left, Lucius noticed the ridiculous, chipmunk-toothed boy pretending to sneak around. If nothing else, he would probably be good for a few laughs. Bella reached the conclusion at the same time, and starting joking.

Naturally, Andromeda wasn't amused. _Nothing_ amused her.

Except for the Mudblood and his ridiculous song. Lucius was glad to be shut of her, but still... seeing her there in the train, _laughing_... He should have known something was amiss before the Sorting. Andromeda Black didn't laugh.

Bella had spent the rest of the journey steaming, pounding her fist into the wall of the compartment. Of all the filthy, obscene ideas! Before she had even reached Hogwarts, Andromeda had dirtied herself with this sort of scum. Bella planned to not allow her to associate outside of Slytherin until she'd been "cleaned up."

She wouldn't be pleasant tonight, but Lucius didn't mind. She'd plot some sort of scheme, probably, and he could always help her.

Ahead of him, the bucktoothed boy who had hidden behind a trunk to avoid the tiniest of hexes was confidently telling the Mudblood that he would end up in Gryffindor, and hoped they would end up there together. The Mudblood disagreed.

"If a fight's coming at me," he said, "I'll duck it if I can."

Naturally. Lucius rolled his eyes, and supposed he must have made some sort of noise, because Bucktooth looked back at him. Lucius wrinkled his nose. "Coward," he said. "Mudblood coward."

The Mudblood flexed his fists, like he planned to initiate a street brawl, but didn't turn around. Bucktooth pulled himself up pompously and said, "You shouldn't say that. It's rude."

Lucius wasn't sure what he intended to say to this absurd notion--as if the presence of a Mudblood in the Great Hall of Hogwarts was something to be treated like a visit from a dignitary in the drawing room!--but he never got a chance to say anything. The old shrew conducting the Sorting looked over her specs and said, "I have not had to teach this lesson _during_ a Sorting for some time, but when I am speaking, you are not." She turned away.

Lucius made a face at Bucktooth, who Bucktooth looked away again ostentatiously.

The Sorting went on; Lucius ignored it.

"The place," Father had said this morning, his voice hard and resolute, "is crawling with Mudbloods and their ideas. You are to stay clear of them, Lucius."

"Yes, Father."

Father stood and looked out the great window of Malfoy Manor, its central pane showing a broad expanse of the countryside and its facets showing various servants going about their tasks around the house. These could be changed at will, as Lucius had found out when he'd stolen one of Father's spellbooks and tried to learn a handful of hexes from them. Father had demonstrated some curses whose existence Lucius hadn't suspected that day. He had not taken books from Father's collection since.

"I would send you to Durmstrang," Father said at last. "I would send you, but we have lost enough of our traditions. I will not _allow_ these interlopers to destroy all we have built, or give them default rule of Britain. This is _our_ home. We will reclaim it one day, and I won't have the chain of tradition broken for the sake of these fools."

"Yes, Father."

Father looked at him sharply. "You do not take your place in the world seriously enough, Lucius. You have a responsibility."

"I know, Father."

"Yet you waste your time playing and joking."

Lucius had chosen not to answer, and simply smeared honey on a new bite of a scone.

Father sighed. "You'll feel it someday, Lucius. How our world is slipping away from us, being stolen from us. _They_ have no feel for it, no sense of our history, our place in the world. They want to impose their ways on us. It erodes, Lucius. Like anything under constant abrasion, it erodes."

"Yes, Father."

"My grandfather's great-grandfather once held all this land." Father swept his arm vaguely across the vista out the window. "He kept the crops growing for the Muggles, and they paid him proper respect. Then the Muggle-lovers at the Ministry wrote a decree to 'protect' them from such horrors. Now their crops fail, and their manufactories belch smoke into the air, and their children run off to all the forsaken corners of the world. And yet we are expected to take their stock in with our own, and listen to their ideas?"

Lucius scooped a few more eggs onto his plate. When Father went on a tear about this, he could go on for hours. Lucius had heard it all, several times. He didn't know why Father couldn't just boil it down to its essence: Muggles were crass dolts with no sense of propriety at all, and being born with a talent for magic didn't change who they were or where they came from. They made everything feel dirty.

Witness the Mudblood standing in front of Bucktooth.

Lucius prodded Bucktooth with his wand, and was not surprised to see him skitter around and put the Mudblood between them. Bucktooth didn't even look back.

The Mudblood, on the other hand, turned and glared. Lucius smirked back at him.

"Lockhart, Gilderoy."

Bucktooth went up, making a ridiculous figure of himself by pretending to swing a cape he wasn't wearing, and sat down like he expected to be crowned King. Instead, the Sorting Hat slipped over his head entirely, hiding his face and neck. Lucius fought an urge to laugh. The old shrew would probably give him a detention. The Hat appeared to be talking to him for some time before it called out, "_RAVENCLAW!_"

Another Mudblood--"Lucerne, Antonia"--was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Lucius had barely realized where they were in the alphabet when the shrew called out, "Malfoy, Lucius."

It was a technicality, and everyone knew it. Malfoys had stood with Slytherin himself, and the family's history was even more tied to Slytherin House than the Blacks'. Father was right--tradition, after all, meant _something_.

Lucius sat down without any particular hurry, and looked around the Great Hall. Bella was sitting at the Slytherin table, fuming, her jaw clamped shut against what Lucius was quite sure would be and amusing rant later.

He smiled at her, then pulled the Hat onto his head.

The Hat said nothing but, "_SLYTHERIN!_"

**~Ted Tonks~**

Ted Tonks had never felt more out of place in his life.

Not that he wasn't happy. The castle was beautiful, and the ceiling was brilliant, and he'd already made two friends. But it was all surreal.

This morning, he'd awakened in the seedy flat where he and Mum had made their home for as long as he could remember. He'd kissed her goodbye before she went to work and she'd hugged him. She didn't do that very much. Mum loved him and he knew it, but she wasn't one for a lot of hugs. She loved him by working two jobs to keep them off benefit--Mum would eat Dodger before she'd go on benefit--and making sure that he had things he needed, and by listening to him talk and knowing what he liked and not complaining when he decided he wanted to wear his hair like Paul McCartney. One of the neighbors had complained, and Mum had even tugged fondly on his fringe and said, "I think it suits him."

But this morning, she'd hugged him, and he thought she was crying. "Now, you have a suit laid out, with a proper tie and all. You promise me you'll get off to King's Cross all right?"

Ted nodded. It was only a matter of a few blocks.

"I'd like to come," Mum said. "But Mr. Lane gave me the breakfast shift off twice last week. I can't--"

"It's all right, Mum, really." Ted smiled at her and gave her another hug. "I can get to the train. I'm glad you were there for shopping and such. I'm not good at that."

"Hmph. Some things don't change--the shops will try to cheat you everywhere. You just keep your eyes open."

And then she had left, her nylon uniform blending into the gaudy orange of sunrise.

Ted had broken his promise, but only because he couldn't figure out how to work the tie. She'd shown him, but he couldn't make his fingers do it. And without the tie, the fancy shirt and trousers looked silly. Clean blue jeans and tee shirt so white that it almost hurt to look at would have to do; he'd be changing into school robes before he arrived, anyway. He'd, er, borrowed a trolley from King's Cross two days ago and used it to push his trunk and Dodger to the station around ten, ignoring the strange looks from his neighbors. One of the bigger lads in the neighborhood threw a handful of mud at his shirt, but it fell short, as things thrown at Ted had always tended to do.

That was his morning.

Tonight, he was in a castle, surrounded by people wearing velvet, and his moptop hair looked short and conservative. He'd made friends with two people who lived in England and had never heard of the Beatles, and been in a fight with a genuine Wicked Witch.

He was madly curious, and part of him wanted to see everything. But another part of him was just disoriented, and all he really wanted was a friendly face. When he'd been with Andromeda and Gilderoy--what names!--it had been easy enough, but now they had both been Sorted into different houses, so the most friends Ted would have would be one, and that's if he wasn't put into Slytherin or Hufflepuff. He certainly didn't feel like a brave Gryffindor, and he'd never been very clever about school things--he did well enough, but he really didn't care, so that probably counted out Ravenclaw. Which would leave him with _no_ friends in the place where he ended up.

This thought tried to snag in his mind as the names went on and on. He wished they'd let him bring Dodger into the Hall. Poor old Dodge had started crying when he'd been left again, after so long on the train--those sharp, loud, repeated meows that he gave when he was absolutely desperate for an ear-scratching. It was an awfully long time to wait for the person you belonged with.

Ted understood the feeling.

There were times when he wished his father's name had been Anderson or Adams or Beale. Anything that wouldn't put him at the end of the queue for anything leaning on the alphabet. This was one of those times--he just wanted to find the people he would be with. The waiting was difficult.

Walter Tonks had come up on the worse side of a bar brawl when Ted was still in nappies, and Ted had almost no memory of him, except for being swung through the air by a laughing giant who had seemed to take up the whole world. He sometimes had a daydream about Mum remarrying and taking some new name, but Mum had told him that even if she did, he would remain a Tonks.

"I imagine you wouldn't be yourself if it weren't for Walt," she said wearily sometimes. "You certainly don't get much from me." She always shook her head fondly when she said this.

After the Hogwarts letter had come, Ted had pestered her to tell him about his father, wondering if this odd talent of his had come that way. Mum had laughed. "Ted, if your Dad could see the future in a mud puddle, he'd have used it to make a fortune at the races. Do you see a fortune anywhere?"

Ted had laughed, but it was disappointing. He'd hoped somehow that it came from that direction. At least it would be _something_.

He'd started telling fortunes for tuppence when he was eight, just for a lark, pretending to see visions in a puddle of mud-cloudy water behind the flat. The first time he'd actually seen a flash of something, he'd thought he was going mad. It had been a pretty blonde-haired lady and in his vision, he saw her stealing Mum's rings. He'd run inside to find Mum alone, but the next day after school, he'd found the lady, who claimed to have gotten a bit turned around walking from King's Cross. Ted, who had always been clumsy, deliberately made himself trip. Her purse fell from the table and spilled--Mum's engagement ring and wedding ring (which she never wore, as both of her jobs involved scrubbing dishes for hours) fell out onto the floor.

Ted meant to get out of the puddle-scrying business after that. It was just too strange. But the girls in the neighborhood, even some of the older ones, even _teenagers_, really liked to have their fortunes told, and they started offering him a _shilling_ for a fortune, and all of that piled up, and after awhile, a boy could buy a record that _he_ liked, instead of listening to his Mum's...

So he'd gone back. Mostly, he just took guesses, which he decided was somewhat nicer than just making things up, a bit more honest. Sometimes he was right, sometimes wrong. He was right often enough that they kept coming back. He got better at guessing, even when nothing appeared in the puddle. It felt better when he actually did some work than when he'd been cheating.

But sometimes, there were _things_.

Mostly they were bad things, like car accidents or fires--he would see them later on the news sometimes. Sometimes they were _scary_--monsters and masked men--but he never knew whether or not those were real. He guessed if one sort was real, the other was.

Until last week, none of the visions made him feel particularly good. He wasn't supposed to be scrying anymore. The wizard from Hogwarts had said at the orientation for Muggle-borns that he had to stop. But he hadn't meant to do it in the first place. He'd just been sitting out back with Dodger curled up beside him, waiting for Mum to come home from her morning job, and he'd stirred a puddle absently with his new wand, fresh bought in Diagon Alley the day before. He'd forgotten that he had it in his hand. The dirt at the bottom had bloomed up into a gray cloud, then suddenly it swirled and parted, and there was a girl there, laughing and singing. She made Ted feel happy for some reason, more comfortable in this new place.

And then she'd been there in reality, on the train, smiling, then laughing, then singing.

When he'd seen Andromeda, the girl that magic had shown him, all of it became real. This was a real world, and he was a part of it. So was she, and that was a bit of all right. He liked her; she was a good sort. He liked Gilderoy, too--he was odd, even in this world, but he'd reached right through his oddness to be kind to a total stranger, and that counted for something in Ted's book.

"Preston, Marian" ("_GRYFFINDOR!_")... "Reynolds, Chester" ("_ SLYTHERIN!_")

There were only five first years left. Ted glanced nervously around. He was standing close to the Slytherin table, and he could see Andromeda's sister, looking hateful. He looked the other direction to find Andromeda herself; she was sitting with a group of Gryffindors, one of whom had thrown a red and gold scarf haphazardly around her. Apparently, they were glad to have her. She smiled and waved.

"Simonson, Elspeth" became a Ravenclaw, then, "Tonks, Edward."

Ted looked at the remaining three first years who had even worse luck than he did, and gave them a smile. They smiled feebly back--the solidarity of the unfortunately named. He went to the stool and sat down, not knowing exactly what to expect.

A voice from the Hat spoke in his ear. "Ah... tired of waiting, are you?"

Ted almost answered out loud, then remembered that no one else had. _A bit. Not that I mean any offense or anything..._

"None taken." The Hat moved on its own for awhile; Ted imagined it frowning, hemming and hawing. "You show great bravery," it said. "As bold as any Gryffindor I've Sorted."

Ted dared to hope for a minute.

Then the Hat spoke again. "But I don't think you'll be a Gryffindor." Its voice gained some volume. "Familiar faces are what you seek, connections, friendships."

_Doesn't everyone?_

"You might find yourself surprised." The Hat gathered itself. "You will always reach for people first, and you place a value on working to earn your place. Loyalty, dedication, willingness to toil... I think you'll be at home in 

"_HUFFLEPUFF!_"

**

To be continued... in 1969.

**


	6. September 1, 1969: It Begins, Pt 1

**Of A Sort**  
by FernWithy  
** September 1, 1969: It Begins   
Part One: Up To No Good **

Peter Pettigrew hadn't been able to find a free trolley for his trunk, and getting through the barrier unnoticed with the thing dragging along and scraping the floor and thudding had been a bit of a trick, but it was done now. With a last gasp, he pulled it around in a sharp arc, leaving tracks in the dirt on the floor of the platform. He looked around cautiously, hoping someone had seen him and would offer help (and maybe congratulations on getting through), but everyone else was involved in their own preparations for school. No one at all had seen him come through.

He sighed.

Everyone else's parents had come along (except a handful of people Peter assumed to be Muggle-born; they were huddled together under the sign that said "Hogwarts Express"), but Mother had one of her sick headaches this morning, and she wanted to get some rest before this afternoon's meeting of the Ladies' Potion-Making Association. They would be brewing something that was meant to restore gray hair to its natural, youthful color, then there was something meant to keep a slim figure (Mother had eyed Peter's slovenly shape with distaste when she mentioned this; he had most definitely not gotten her looks). Dad had gone off on Ministry business two days ago with his secretary, a nasty woman named Marcellina who always looked at Peter like he was a particularly unappetizing leftover.

He sat down on the trunk to rest, his shoulders starting to twinge from the long drag through King's Cross. No one noticed him.

All around him, students of various ages were calling one another, pulling trunks onto the scarlet steam engine that waited on the tracks. A bespectacled boy was getting kisses and packages from a number of adults who had gathered around him, seeming quite unconcerned about going off to school, though he, like Peter, appeared to be a first-year. A group of older girls were cooing over a kitten a bit further down, and beyond them a light-haired boy with a very pale face was clutching a heavy book to his chest like a shield while his parents whispered to him beside an open trunk. As Peter watched, his mother smoothed down his hair and kissed his forehead very tenderly. His father patted him bracingly on the arm. The boy gave a shaky nod, then decisively put his book in the trunk and dragged it all on board. His parents remained still, watching with worried glances.

There was a bit of a commotion on Peter's other side as a large family came through the barrier right next to him, obviously not exerting much effort to avoid being seen. A dark-haired teenage girl with a trolley bumped into Peter.

He scrambled up onto his trunk. "Sorry," he said. "Just resting."

"You're in the way of the barrier, you dolt," she said, pushing the trolley over the spot where his feet had been a moment before. "Learn some manners."

Another girl, this one with a shiny red and gold badge on her robes, pulled the first one away and gave her a warning look before moving aside. Three more adults had come through the barrier now, followed by eight house elves carrying four trunks. One of the adults whispered a Charm, or maybe a countercharm, and Peter guessed they'd been rendered unnoticeable in some way. After all, it would be difficult to hide them from Muggles, but they clearly weren't invisible. He'd never _heard_ of a Charm to do such a thing, but he assumed it must exist.

Finally, a forbidding woman came through, one hand on the shoulder of each of two children, a boy and a girl. The boy was sharp-featured, with black hair and dark eyes. The girl looked a great deal like the boy, except she appeared to have been dropped in a vat of blanching potion, leaving her pale and blonde with eyes like ice. Judging by the expression on her face, the procedure hadn't been particularly pleasant.

She tugged on the forbidding woman's sleeve and pointed at Peter. "Auntie, that boy is staring."

The woman--Auntie--glared at Peter and pulled the girl behind her. "Direct your eyes elsewhere, filthy child," she said, then turned back to the girl. "All right, Narcissa," she said. "We've had our little talk. Go say goodbye to your parents." The girl wandered off to the adults who had come in first. Auntie continued to glare at Peter until he got down from his trunk and began to pull it laboriously toward the train. He didn't waste time hoping that they would offer one of their elves--or even trolleys--to help him out.

He wasn't even close to out of earshot when Auntie began talking again. She'd put one clawed hand on the boy's shoulder. It looked like she was digging in.

"Mum," he said, "c'mon, I was listening outside."

"You were hearing, Sirius, not listening. I saw you rolling your eyes and making your impertinent faces. You are a Black. You will behave appropriately. I do not want you mixing with... _them._"

"I'll make whatever friends I like! I--ow!"

Auntie was pinching his ear now, quite hard. "You listen to me, you ungrateful little--"

But Peter didn't find out what sort of ungrateful creature she was going to call her son. He gave his trunk another tug but he lost his grip on the sweaty handle, overbalanced, and fell over, landing on his backside with a thump.

Everyone around him turned to look, and the dark-haired girl laughed shrilly. It echoed for a moment before movement started again. Peter just remained quiet, knowing perfectly well that any movement or eye contact would only make it worse. At last, he felt that all eyes had turned away from him, and he pulled himself back up.

The boy, Sirius, nodded. "Yes, Mum," he said in an entirely unconvincing tone. "Whatever you say."

Auntie apparently didn't find this any more believable than Peter did. "You are a disgrace to the noble House of Black. You and your cousin--you'll end up just like her." She glared at her son, her nose slightly wrinkled. "I won't have it."

Sirius said nothing, just glowered at her.

She turned impressively and strode through the barrier, not waiting for an all-clear from the witch who was watching for Muggles.

Peter gave another tug at his trunk, then nearly stumbled again when it lifted easily and came toward him. He looked up. The boy Sirius was holding the other end of it. "Let me help," he said. "The house elves got mine."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "Narcissa and Mum hated you on sight. That's usually a good sign." His face split in a sunny grin, and he suddenly looked very different from his blonde cousin. "We'll stow it by mine. I've got a sack of dungbombs in my trunk. What say we spoil Narcissa's hair?"

Peter didn't have any special interest in tormenting Narcissa, but it was something to do, and Sirius _was_ helping with the trunk. In fact, Sirius was doing most of the work; Peter himself was just holding it steady. They made their way onto the train, passing the Blacks' house elves as they went. Sirius tapped one of them with his foot. "Hey, Kreacher. Where're our things?"

The elf glared at him. "Young Master should be careful. Kreacher will tell his Mistress about his nasty feet."

"Where's my trunk?"

Kreacher raised his arm and pointed vaguely at a compartment partway down the car. Sirius rolled his eyes and kept going without thanking the elf.

Sirius's cousins weren't in the compartment--yet--but the luggage was lined up in neat rows under the seats. He veered Peter's trunk into an empty spot beside one that had been carved with the initials "BB," done in a spidery cursive and painted green and silver. He gave it a spiteful kick. A fifth trunk in the far corner was embossed with the silver letters "LM," and a sixth had the full name "R. Lestrange" on one side. All of these trunks were of solid wood. Peter's, with its chipping veneer, looked particularly wobegone among them.

Sirius pulled a mahogany trunk (labeled in silver with "SB") from under the opposite seat, popped it open, and fished around at the bottom. Stirring up his robes, books, and underwear, he pulled up a pewter cauldron and upended it. A non-descript cloth bag fell out of it, and Sirius grinned. "I was afraid Kreacher would check," he said. "But he didn't."

Peter smiled slightly, having no idea what to say. He'd spent some time with children of Mother's friends, but they all just made polite small talk until their parents let them leave. And at Ministry gatherings, Peter had never been part of the groups of roaming children--he was their target. Normally, he was the one that the dungbombs would be hurled at. He didn't know the first thing about planning such an attack.

Not that it mattered. Sirius didn't appear to need much feedback. "We can throw some. But we can prop some up here"--he put two on the back of the seat--"and they'll just go off when someone moves wrong." He bit his lip. "No. That could be Andromeda. We don't hit Andromeda."

"All right."

Regretfully, Sirius picked up the two balanced ones and handed them to Peter. "Is the compartment across the way empty?"

"No."

"Hmm." He rummaged in his own trunk again and came up with a well-made black cloak with silver fastenings. From a distance it would look the same as the one in Peter's trunk, but up close Peter could see the way the fine cloth shimmered and the silver fasteners were cunningly worked with Sirius's initials. He threw it over his shoulders and pulled the hood up. From the back, he wouldn't be especially recognizable, though Peter personally thought it would be a little suspicious to see someone in the corridor on September the first wearing a winter cloak. "C'mon," Sirius said, pulling Peter out into the hall. He pulled two handfuls of dungbombs from the bag and held them in his straining hands, letting the cloak fall closed around them. "You're the lookout. Tell me when you see them."

The cousins didn't appear immediately, and Sirius shifted impatiently from foot to foot. Peter shrugged. "Maybe they're sitting somewhere else."

Sirius shook his head. "Lucius Malfoy won't leave his care packages unattended long. He spent a week at the lake with us this summer." He wrinkled his nose. "If he marries Bella--that's the older one, the one that laughed--I'm leaving the family. Of course, I think I'll do that anyway," he finished philosophically.

Peter had no idea how to respond to this extraordinary pronouncement from a complete stranger. "Er," he said. "I think I'll get into my robes," he said. "To save time later."

_Not to mention, before I have to fish them out with your cousins around when they've seen me throwing dungbombs at them with you._

"How will I know if they're coming?"

"Maybe they'll come from the other direction," Peter suggested, slipping back into the compartment. His heart was beating furiously. He pulled his trunk back out, retrieved a set of school robes from the top, and put them on over his clothes. He felt safer behind them.

"Who are you?" someone demanded.

Peter's heart leapt up into his throat and his head jerked up. In the window, he could see the ghostly reflection of Bella, a tall blonde boy, and another large boy. The blonde one looked alert and dangerous. The other looked like he could break Peter's arm with a simple twist, as long as someone reminded him exactly what an "arm" was and that it was filled with things called "bones."

He turned around.

"Oh," Bella said. "It's His Gracefulness from the platform. What are you doing in here? Did my sister the prefect adopt herself another pet failure?"

Peter shook his head dumbly.

"I invited him," Sirius said. Bella stepped aside, and Peter could see Sirius beside her, not looking impatient or amused anymore. The bag of dungbombs was slung over one wrist, and his arms were crossed over his chest. "I thought there would be room for his trunk here."

"Well, you don't think the two of you are going to sit with us, do you?"

"Like I'd want to." He crooked his finger. "C'mon. Let's find a place to sit."

Peter nodded and took a step toward the door. He caught the flash of a smile on Bella's face, and in later years he would have known to hurry at that point, but he paid no attention at that moment. He was leaving the compartment anyway. She had no reason to--

"_Prolapsio!_"

Suddenly, Peter's feet felt like they were on ice. He slipped forward, tried to catch himself by leaning backward, and ended up flying into the air and landing hard. He scrambled to get up, but Bella said, "_Lubricus_," and suddenly the floor seemed to be covered with grease.

Bella laughed and laughed, then something thudded and banged, and she started sputtering.

A different voice laughed, and Peter looked up to see Sirius, his hands full of dungbombs. One had gone off right in Bella's face. Narcissa, who had appeared at some point while Peter was struggling on the floor, got a splatter from it as well.

Sirius waved the remaining dungbombs at his cousins, then lobbed the three in his right hand and reached down for Peter in the same movement, pulling him out into the corridor. One of the boys made a disgusted sound, and Narcissa screamed prissily.

Peter felt himself dragged down the corridor behind the laughing Sirius, thinking only, _Wonderful. And they have all my school things in there with them._

He was yanked back roughly, his robes tearing at the hem as the thick-looking boy dove for him from one direction while Sirius continued pulling him in the other.

"Hey!" he yelled.

A door opened from a side compartment and another boy came out. He stepped deliberately in the way and his foot found its way onto the boy's hand, forcing him to let go of Peter's robes. "Oops," he said. "I can't see where I'm going without my glasses." He smiled. "Oops, I seem to be wearing them after all."

Sirius laughed again and stopped pulling at Peter.

"Oh, get up, Rodo!" Bella said impatiently. "Do I have to tell you to do everything?"

Rodo got up dutifully and stood with his shoulders hunched, apparently waiting for new orders.

The new boy shook his head. "Nice smell," he said to Bella. "Really suits you."

Peter didn't wait to find out what spell she would throw next. He barreled into Sirius, who was still laughing, and pushed him into the next car. The new boy, now also laughing and dodging a spell, followed along. He raised his wand and said a charm that Peter didn't know (which was most of them), and Bella and her friends appeared to run into a barrier. Rodo fell down again. Peter felt wild laughter coming up, seeing the older students stopped up like that.

All of them were casting glances over their shoulders to watch the spectacle and see how long it would take to break, so they weren't paying much attention to where the were going. Peter was less comfortable than the other two not looking where he was running, so he was the one who saw the greasy-looking boy first.

"Hey, Sirius--" he started to warn, but they were moving too fast to stop. Sirius's left hand was leading, loaded with dungbombs, and he drove it straight into the boy's chest. The dungbombs exploded out onto the threadbare robes, splattering the boy entirely from his greasy hairline to his knees.

Sirius was still laughing. "S...s...sor..." he gasped, tripping around the other boy, who was glaring after him with real hatred. Peter wanted to stop, but he was being dragged along again. The bespectacled boy who'd stepped on Rodo's hand passed the dung-splattered one with a jovial shrug.

"_Cruento!_"

"Hey!"

Peter was going to keep running, but Sirius stopped and turned at the sound of the other boy's voice. Something was all over him, red and...

"That's blood," Peter said, disgusted.

The boy in glasses (now with finger smears to clear the gory mess) was no longer laughing. The other one--the one covered in dung--had an unpleasant smirk on his face, and his wand was still raised. Glasses-boy raised his own. 

"Run!" Sirius called, pulling both Peter and the other boy along. That was when Peter noticed that Bella had broken through the barrier and was coming down the corridor toward them again.

The three boys ran madly into the next car (Bella was temporarily tripped up by the dung-covered boy, and the younger sister, Narcissa, appeared to stay back with him), and into the one after that. Sirius shot a look backward, then ducked into a compartment.

There was only one person here, the pale boy from the platform, his book out again, now spread out on his lap. He stood up, alarmed at the blood-covered, sweating newcomers. "Er... hello?" he tried.

Peter gave a weak smile.

"Damn!" Sirius said. He was looking out the glass window in the door. "She's still coming. Checking doors." With a desperate turn of his head, he reached a decision. He grabbed hold of an overhead rack and pulled himself onto it. "Toss us the blanket," he said to the bookish boy.

Peter shrugged at the boy's inquisitive look, and the blanket was duly handed up as the bespectacled boy climbed up beside Sirius. They hid themselves.

Peter looked longingly at the opposite rack and tried to lift himself up into it. He wasn't too fat to fit in it--at least he didn't think so--but he couldn't seem to pull himself up.

Something wrapped around his ankles.

He looked down to see the pale boy grinning. With an easy move, he gave a shove and gave Peter enough momentum to roll himself onto the rack. For a sickly-looking boy, he seemed to be extraordinarily strong.

He'd barely covered himself with a patched cloak the boy tossed when the compartment door sprung open.

"Where are they?" Bella demanded.

Peter peeked out carefully from a hole in the cloak.

The boy had picked up his book again and was reading it casually. "Who are you looking for?" he asked.

"The ones who left the bloody handprint on the door!" Bella exploded. "My cousin and the other two!"

"Oh, them. They moved on. Sort of slapped the door and kept going. Probably trying to trick you." He looked down at his book again.

"Don't lie to me. They've been running and one of them is covered in blood. I can _smell_ them."

Bella came into the compartment and began turning up spare blankets on one end of the seat. "Get out here, Sirius," she said. "I mean it!"

"Honestly, Miss--?"

"Black."

"Miss Black. I think they went right on down to the end of the train."

"They did not. I'm telling you, if you lie to me, I'll--"

"Stop it, Bella."

Bella's words were cut off sharply. "I don't see where this is _your_ business, Andromeda."

"I'm a prefect, Bella. You're not. Now, let up on Sirius."

"Did you see what he did?"

"I really don't care. Let up."

Bella gritted her teeth, but backed out of the compartment. Andromeda lingered at the door, looking up at the luggage rack. "Dungbombs?" she said to the blanket on the far side. "Really, Sirius. You're going to make my life difficult, aren't you?" She shook her head and left the compartment.

The blanket fell to the floor and Sirius and the other boy extricated themselves from the rack, dropping gracefully to the floor. Peter struggled with the cloak, finally freeing himself only to realize that he had no idea how to get down without falling. He must have looked confused. The others grabbed his hands without asking, the strong, pale one guiding his legs down to the seat.

"Thanks," he said, looking at them. There wasn't anything immediately to say. The four of them just looked at each other, smiling slightly. Peter bit his lip. "I'm Peter Pettigrew," he offered.

Sirius laughed. "Oh, right! I forgot I didn't know. I'm Sirius Black."

The other boy had taken his glasses off and was trying to clean them on his bloody robe. Peter offered him a clean handkerchief, which he took gratefully. "James Potter," he said. He looked at the fourth boy, who was still sitting with his book open on his lap. "And you?"

"Me?"

"No, the other person in the compartment who just saved our skins."

The boy with the book smiled brightly. "Remus," he said. "Remus Lupin."

James looked at Sirius. "Don't take this the wrong way, mate, but your cousin's a nutter."

"You don't know the half of it," Sirius said, shaking his head and planting himself on a seat. "You don't want to."

"Probably not," James agreed. He put his glasses back on, looking at them with distaste. "Don't suppose you know the cleaning charm?"

They all shook their heads. Looking around, Peter hoped they would all find someone who did before they had to meet the whole school.

James looked at Peter. "Are you going to sit down or not? I mean, you don't mind, do you, Remus? I think I wore out my welcome where I was before." James frowned, looking confused and irritated about something.

Remus shook his head.

Peter sat down by Remus, and then James looked around. "Well," he said casually, "we're all here."

A chill twisted down Peter's spine, but no one else seemed to notice anything at all odd, so he didn't comment.

James pulled a pack of cards from under his robes. "Who's for Exploding Snap?"

**To be continued... in another compartment.**


	7. September 1, 1969: It Begins, Pt 2

**Of A Sort**  
by FernWithy  
**September 1, 1969: It Begins   
Part Two: Phoenix Rising **

_He is seven and he is alone._

Someone has made the weather outside the Ministry's magical windows bright and cheery, and he shrinks into the shadows outside the courtroom to hide from it. It isn't right for the sun to be out anywhere, certainly not in a place where there is a choice. Inside the room, the Wizengamut is in session, and sometimes he can hear Mother sobbing loudly. Father, of course, will just be sitting there, glaring. Severus is not allowed.

A boy appears at the end of the hall batting a toy snitch around. It is on a cord that is wrapped around one of his fingers. He catches it, then wiggles a pair of glasses on his face, laughing at whatever he sees when he does so. The door opens and a man sweeps out, wearing rich green robes. He sweeps the boy up and kisses him, swinging him through the air. "What good timing you have, Jamie!"

"Hullo, Daddy!" Jamie kisses the man. "I heard someone say you were almost done. Is the bad witch going to Azkaban?"

"Yes, she is. For a long time. Say, would you like an ice cream sundae?"

Jamie laughs, and the two of them disappear around the bend, talking happily, like nothing important could be happening. Another man comes through the door. Father. He stops.

"Come along, Severus."

"Mother..."

"Your mother cut herself off from us. She's gone."

"But she's... where...?"

"She swore she'd given up the Dark Arts. She lied." Father pinches Severus's arm hard and leads him down the corridor toward the lifts. When they get there, he can see Jamie and his father again, and Jamie is laughing and laughing and...

...laughing.

At first, Severus was only aware of the stink--the filthy stink of it, soaking his robes and running down his face in ropy tendrils. He saw the boy who'd run into him, heard him sputtering something through his laughter, but it didn't register. A second one barreled by, looking flushed. Then the third, laughing wildly, mockingly, giving a sneering shrug...

The Potter boy. Still laughing carelessly through his life, not caring what happened to anyone else.

Severus raised his wand. "_Cruento!_"

A jet of bright, clotted blood shot from his wand tip, dousing the laughing fool from head to toe, like a scalpel had cut an artery in midair.

It cut Potter's laughter off sharply. His wand was out in a flash, and he was glaring at Severus.

_Good._

Some sort of ruckus broke out behind Severus, and all three boys suddenly bolted further down the train, not even looking back. A group of older students pushed their way through, knocking into Severus and getting tied up for a minute.

"Did he get you, too?" a young girl asked. She was splattered here and there with residue from the dungbombs. The older girl had gotten a worse dose, but the boy she was pushing along seemed clean enough.

"You stay here, Narcissa," the older girl said. "Wait for Lucius. I'll take care of this."

Narcissa nodded and squatted down beside Severus. "I'm sorry," she said. "My cousin knows better. He only does this to annoy us."

"Potter is your cousin?"

She frowned. "No. Sirius Black. I'm Narcissa Black."

"Oh. The other one."

"He's made friends with a Potter?" She wrinkled her nose and adopted a world-weary tone of voice that would have been quite jarring if it weren't so obviously affected. "Well, at least they're Purebloods, but that's _all_ that can be said for them." Narcissa's eyes swept over Severus's black hair and she leaned over to squint at his eyes. He felt like he was being examined for spattergroit. "You _are_ a Pureblood, aren't you? Cornwall lines somewhere? Auntie says the black hair and black eyes together are usually Cornwall."

Severus nodded, relieved. "My mother was a Pendarvis. But we're not from there anymore."

"Who _is?_" she sniffed. "And your father?"

"Snape," Severus muttered. "Siseal Snape."

"Ah," someone else said. Severus looked up to see a tall blonde boy with a green and silver prefect's badge--presumably the Lucius for whom Narcissa had been told to wait. "I know who you are. A tragedy, what happened to your mother." He shook his head. "Well, stand up, both of you."

Severus stood up, Narcissa beside him, and the older boy raised his wand. "_Scourgify!_"

The Charm went to Narcissa first, clearing away the remnants of the dungbomb, leaving her blonde hair and pale skin unmarked. She smiled at Lucius, and he returned it. A moment later, Severus felt the Charm hit him, and the stink of the dungbombs was whisked into nothingness. Lucius put his wand away and held out his hand. "Lucius Malfoy," he said.

"Severus Snape."

Malfoy looked over Severus's head, and his eyes narrowed. "Is that blood on the floor?"

Narcissa nodded. "Sirius has two new friends. One of them is drenched in it."

"Is he hurt?" Malfoy asked.

He didn't sound terribly concerned about the possibility, but he _was_ a prefect. Snape shook his head quickly. "No. I just... it's a spell I know... I suppose I shouldn't have..."

Malfoy's gaze came back to Severus, vaguely surprised. "What do you take me for, one of Dumbledore's stooges? Which Curse did you use?"

"_Cruento_. The Blood Curse. It covers a person with blood."

"That's an advanced curse." Malfoy smiled in an impressed way that made Severus feel rather proud of himself. "Where did you learn it?"

"I found seven of my mother's books hidden under a floorboard. I learned a lot." Severus bit his tongue--Malfoy didn't need to know that the books had been reduced to ash. Father had found them in his trunk last night. It was a wonder Severus's wand had escaped the towering rage. The books had never stood a chance.

"You'll find that not everyone has given up the Old Magic," Malfoy said. "Though we should perhaps wait to discuss that until after you're Sorted."

_Old Magic._

That was what Mother had called it. Father had always called it "the Dark Arts."

An older girl with a red and gold badge came bustling into the compartment. "What's going on?" she asked Narcissa. "Our trunks are covered in--"

"Dungbombs," Narcissa said, her mouth curling in distaste. "Sirius was throwing them."

"Oh."

Lucius sighed. "Do you intend to do anything about your dear little cousin, Andromeda, or do you plan to leave that to less biased prefects?"

"Whoever his House prefects are will be responsible for him," Andromeda said. "I'll talk to him for now."

"Bella's taking care of it," Narcissa said airily.

Andromeda blanched and hurried down the train without saying anything else.

"My other sister," Narcissa said. She shook her head wearily. "She's in _Gryffindor._"

Snape hadn't had a chance to study the Hogwarts Houses, and his father had not been forthcoming on the subject, but judging from Narcissa's tone, being Sorted into Gryffindor wasn't a terribly desirable option. "What house would you like to be in?" he asked.

"Slytherin. We're all in Slytherin, except for Andromeda. Though I'll be quite happy if Sirius isn't." She straightened her robes and patted down her hair. "Lucius is a new prefect for Slytherin House."

Lucius nodded graciously.

A compartment door banged open suddenly and a madly fluttering owl filled the air with loud screeching. Behind it, Severus could see a flash of long, bright red hair being thrown every which way by the owl's flapping wings. "Potter!" a girl yelled. "You left your owl!"

Lucius stood and went to her, taking the owl carefully and perching it on his arm to calm it down. "I'll see to it that--"

He stopped speaking.

He had been paying attention to the owl, as had Severus, but he had looked up to speak to the girl who had brought it out. His face turned hard, and he stepped protectively in front of Narcissa. Severus realized what he was seeing and backed away as well, casting his eyes down to avoid looking at her.

That, of course, was too late--he'd already seen her.

Mudblood.

She was in this world only by the invitation of the Muggle-loving Ministry, but here she stood, bold as brass, wearing a wretched dress in a floral print that ended nearly two inches above her knees. Severus could see a scrape on one of them and a bruise on the other leg. The collar was scooped down almost to where her bosoms would be if she had any yet, and her arms were entirely bare (they had of course been scratched badly by the owl, which served her right). It was thoroughly indecent.

"Are you a prefect?" she asked stridently, looking at Lucius. Her red hair was wild, the kerchief she wore over it (it matched the dress) pulled askew by the owl. "Because the boy who left his owl in with me was doing magic outside of school. He said he was going to put my trunk on the upper racks by levitating it. I _told_ him not to, but he did it anyway, and _naturally_ he dropped it, and now my underthings are all over the compartment."

Snape looked at her from the corner of his eye. She was standing with her hands on her hips, blinking expectantly.

Lucius straightened up. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. It's Lily Evans."

"Well, Miss Evans, it sounds like you have a lot of cleaning up to do. I suggest you go about it."

"Aren't you going to do _anything?_"

"Because a Mudblood's knickers were spilled?" He sniffed. "I can't imagine why you're so concerned. You're hardly covering them even when you're wearing them."

Lily's jaw clenched, and she turned on her heel. "I'm going to find another prefect," she said.

"_Impedimenta!_" Lucius shouted, and Lily stopped moving. He reached out and turned her around. "You make me ill," he said.

She spat in his face.

Severus saw his eyes go wide in rage, and felt his own rage in concert with it. This miserable Mudblood girl, fouling a Pureblood, after _ordering_ him to act. He raised his wand, reaching into his mind for a spell as he moved, finding one that he'd longed to try on his father someday. The girl would be good practice.

_"Pusillus,"_ he said.

The effect wasn't as gaudy as the Blood Curse, but it was as immediate. Lily Evans seemed to shrink into herself, turning her shoulders down and biting her lip anxiously. Her eyes went wide with fear. "I..." she began. "I'm sorry... I... "

"Let that serve as a reminder," Lucius said, "of how small you are. You feel small, don't you?"

She nodded.

"You _are_ small. If you disappeared from this world, no one would miss you. You're a stranger here."

"What _was_ that spell?" Narcissa whispered.

"_Pusillus,_" Severus said. "It means 'insignificant.' Just a reminder." He smiled.

"Handy, that one," Narcissa said.

The dark-haired older girl and a tall boy appeared from the corridor they'd disappeared down, followed closely by Andromeda the Gryffindor prefect. Her eyes went wide, but to Severus's surprise, she said nothing, and simply stalked away purposefully.

"What have you got, Lucius?" Bella asked, looking over his shoulder. "Oh, look. They've been neglecting to clean the train again."

Lily Evans began to cry. The boy who had come in with Bella laughed.

Lucius looked over his shoulder at Severus. "That's a powerful one. Another from your mother's books?"

"Yes."

"Much as I like it, I think we should avoid doing it again. Dumbledore will undoubtedly notice something like that." He raised his wand. "_Finite incantatem._"

The fire rushed back into the girl's face, and she dove at Lucius. He held her back easily.

Bella pulled the kerchief from Lily's head. "Oh, good. I'm filthy. I needed something to clean up with." She wiped it over her face, smearing it with the residue from Sirius Black's dungbombs.

"Give that back," Lily said. She lurched away from Lucius, toward Bella, but he held her arms.

"I'm not done yet," Bella said, wiping her hands. "Have I got it all, Rodo?"

Rodo nodded.

"That's mine!" Lily gave another lurch, this time twisting out of Lucius's grip. She grabbed at Bella's arms, but Bella wouldn't let her find purchase.

She looked over Lily's head at Lucius. "Grab her."

Lucius did so, pulling her arms around behind her. "Stay still, Mudblood," he said.

Bella took the soiled kerchief and wiped it over Lily's face and hair, then tied it back on her. "There, see? All yours."

Lily kicked backward at Lucius. "Let go of me!"

"But you were looking for a prefect."

"Let her go."

The new voice came from behind Severus, and he jerked his head around. It was Potter, still covered with blood, along with Sirius Black and two other boys. None of them were laughing now. Their wands were raised. The owl the girl had carried out was perched on Potter's shoulder.

"Oo, look, Lucius," Bella said. "Ickle firsties coming to take us away!" She put her hand on her heart and pretended to feel faint. "What will we do?"

"The four of us can take the three of you," Potter said.

"What a shame you can't count," Severus said, standing up and taking a place between Lucius and Bella. Narcissa sighed and joined the line. The frustrated look on Potter's face was worth it.

"You seem to have missed a few yourself, mate," someone else said.

Lucius turned around, and signaled for Severus to do the same. Rodo and the girls continued facing Potter and his friends.

A tall black-haired boy had come into the fray, flanked by Andromeda Black. The boy was wearing old blue jeans that flared at the bottom and a loose fitting shirt with some bright and busy design printed on it. A round medallion with a three-branch symbol of some sort hung down on his chest. He had his wand raised, and as Severus watched, at least ten more people appeared from compartments behind him. All except one were dressed in Muggle clothing. They surrounded the black-haired boy, wands raised.

Lucius sighed. "I'm trembling, Tonks."

A small, rosy-cheeked girl leveled her wand at Lucius and stepped forward between Tonks and Andromeda. "Back off, Malfoy," she said. "You too, Black."

Lucius remained still, but when Tonks came forward and reached between Lucius and Snape, no one interfered with him. He put a hand on Lily's shoulder and pulled her out. "Sorry about this, love," he said. "You go on back to Gilderoy"--he pointed at the one member of the party other than Andromeda in wizard's robes, a foppish-looking blonde who was hanging to the back--"and he'll get you cleaned up so everyone can see how pretty you are. He's good at that. Then I'll come talk to you. Don't let this git ruin it for you."

She nodded and slipped past him. Severus saw the boy Gilderoy put an arm over her shoulder and lead her into a side compartment, then she was gone.

The battle lines remained. The rosy-cheeked girl stood on tiptoes and looked over Lucius's shoulders. "You, boys. Come over here. If you touch them, Black, I'll hex you into next year."

Potter and his friends stayed still for a moment, then lowered their wands cautiously and slipped around Bella and Narcissa. As he passed, Sirius stuck his tongue out at his cousins.

"We'll get you cleaned up, too," the girl said.

"Emmeline!" someone shouted from the back, sounding both angry and disgusted. "They're... _pure!_"

"_Toujours_," Sirius muttered bitterly as he passed Severus.

"So are Andi and Gilderoy." Tonks didn't bother looking back. "Drop the attitude, Fenwick, or I'll re-acquaint you with my fist. We don't do that."

No one spoke as Potter's group was heralded into another compartment. As soon as the door closed, Tonks lowered his wand and signaled the others to do the same. All but Emmeline did so.

"We're watching you, Malfoy," she said. "And if you think you're going to hide behind that badge, think again."

"Emmy," Tonks said. "Call off."

Emmeline put her wand away resentfully, jamming it into a pocket of her jeans and crossing her arms. There was another moment of silence, then Tonks and his group turned as smoothly as a military unit and faded back into the train.

"Mudbloods on parade," Bella sneered.

"In case you didn't notice," Lucius said, "your sister was with them."

Bella glared at him, then her gaze moved to Severus. "Who is this, anyway?"

"This is Severus Snape," Lucius told her. "Quite a talented boy. Tell Bella about that curse of yours."

The five of them went into a compartment while Severus talked about the curses and hexes in his mother's books. Other older students drifted in as the train bore north, perching themselves on top of trunks and leaning against the walls. They seemed to be gathering around Bellatrix Black in an almost ceremonial way.

When the conversation drifted away from Severus, Bella began to talk about the damage being done to ancient magical culture by the encroaching Muggle world, to frequent calls of support from the gathered students. Even Lucius Malfoy stepped aside to let her lead.

"Bella's something," Narcissa said quietly from Severus's right side, where she had settled in comfortably. "When she gets going, she can make rocks want to fight."

"_Someone_ has to fight," he said.

"Lucius said something about your mother. What happened?"

"I don't like to talk about it."

"Was it about the Old Magic?"

He nodded.

"Is she dead?"

"I don't think so. My father would have told me. I don't like to talk about it."

Narcissa nodded wisely. "The Ministry--they're mad, you know."

"I know."

Narcissa settled back to watch her sister talk. Severus bit his lip, most of him wanting to keep his silence as he always had, but an awakening part of his mind realizing that for the first time, he was among people who would understand, who wouldn't try to convince him that it was all for the best. Who wouldn't throw things and shout, or burn books, or tear up photographs and drawings. Who wouldn't _shout_.

"I had a brother," he said quietly. He didn't know how long it had been since she'd asked.

Narcissa turned and looked at him with vague interest.

He swallowed. The others were all paying attention to Bella. "We were in London one day," he said. "At the Leaky Cauldron. My brother was three. He wandered outside. One of their cars hit him. His head..." Severus closed his eyes. He had seen Serenus lying there on the street, his head broken and misshapen, but he couldn't express it. "They brought him to St. Mungo's, but there was nothing they could do. My mother... she practiced Old Magic before she married my father, but he forbade it."

"Forbade?" Narcissa repeated, looking shocked.

"Yes. Even when it was for my _brother_. His own son. My mother found the driver. She knew a potion that would have helped my brother, so she brewed it. It needed the eyes of the person responsible. My father caught her. He vanished the potion and... and he turned her in to the Aurors. His own _wife._"

"That's horrible!"

"And they convicted her!" Severus forced his voice to be level. "She blinded a Muggle drunk to save her son, and they threw her into Azkaban for it. Why is a Muggle drunk more important than my brother?"

"Did your brother die?"

"Yes."

"I'm so sorry. That's awful. They should have given her the Order of Merlin for trying." Narcissa sniffed. "My Auntie says that the whole Ministry is infested with Mudbloods and blood traitors. They're the ones who force this sort of thing on us."

Severus nodded emphatically.

It was dark by the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade station, and in the bustle of disboarding, most of Bella's gang fell away. The older students boarded carriages. A huge man with wild hair was calling the first years to the edge of a lake. Bella leaned over Narcissa and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. "No Sorting surprises," she said, wagging her finger.

"I certainly hope not."

Bella smiled at Severus. "Hopefully, we'll be seeing you as well."

She, Lucius, and Rodo took a carriage (expelling two second years to do so), leaving Severus and Narcissa alone in the crowd of first years. Potter and his friends had claimed a boat for themselves already, and Lily Evans seemed to be settled in with the man who had called them to the boats. Narcissa shrugged. "I suppose we should go," she said.

Severus followed her to a boat where two sullen looking girls were sitting alone, and a moment later, they were floating across the lake, the castle on the other side looming ever larger until at last they arrived at the small dock. The man who'd led them herded them off the boats and gathered them at the foot of a great staircase.

"They're all yours, Professor McGonagall," he said.

"Thank you, Hagrid." A stern-looking witch with black hair in a tight bun was descending the stairs. The class turned to her without needing to be asked to do so. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she said, raising an eyebrow. "I've been told that several of you were involved in a fight on board the Hogwarts Express. This is not to be repeated. Is that clear?"

There was a mumbled agreement.

"Good. Now, you will follow me into the Great Hall, where you will be Sorted into your Houses. For the next seven years, these Houses will be your home. I expect you all to be a credit to them."

She led them into a vast hall with a charmed ceiling, between long tables lined with older students. Some waved, some glowered. Most ignored them. At the head of the room was a fifth table, where staff waited with varying degrees of patience. A stool stood on the floor in front of them, with a tattered old hat holding a place of honor on it.

The first years stopped in front of the hat, and its tip waved back and forth, seeming to look at them. Then a rip near the brim opened, and the hat began to sing.

_Many years and years ago,   
When Hogwarts School was new  
The Founders worked in harmony  
And thus their project grew.  
Each founder had a favored strength  
And built a house for all  
Who shared a common vision  
And answered to their call.  
Gryffindor, brash as lion's roar,  
Built his tower to the skies  
And sought the bravest students  
His own house to comprise.  
Slytherin sought the purest  
And the slyest for his part  
He chose the best and brightest,  
If ambition ruled their hearts.  
Hufflepuff held to balance  
And work both hard and true  
All strengths in equal measure  
Her praises would accrue.  
Ravenclaw weighed the pros and cons  
And studied through the night  
To find the school's sharpest minds  
And keep them in her sight.  
It came to an end  
As all things do  
They fell away from one another  
And brought troubles on the school.  
Hufflepuff struggled valiantly,  
Although it was too late.  
Gryffindor, blind and reckless,  
Rushed forth to meet his fate.  
Ravenclaw shut herself away  
From troubles that befell.  
And Slytherin crafted lovingly  
The sword on which he fell.  
When they were gone, they trusted me  
To choose where they could not.  
To keep the school they founded  
And help each student find his lot.  
So come to me and try me on  
And I'll say where you fit in  
But pause and mark this moment now  
For here it all begins!_

**To be continued... with the Sortings.**


	8. September 1, 1969: It Begins, Pt 3

**Of A Sort**  
by FernWithy  
** September 1, 1969: It Begins   
Part Three: The Sorting Ceremony **

_The Sorting Hat's song echoed for a moment in the Great Hall as its words sank in. A few students offered feeble applause; most stared at it in a bewildered manner. At the staff table, Albus Dumbledore watched it quietly, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. Several ghosts drifted out of the walls, setting aside their tradition of waiting for the feast to begin. The Bloody Baron crossed his gray arms and stared impassively at the Hat. A few of the first years jumped back at the sight of the spectral visitors, but they didn't scream. The quiet held for less than a minute, but as the years passed, most of them would remember the silent moment as an eternity._

Then Minerva McGonagall took in a sharp breath and unrolled her scroll of names. "Anderson, Margaret..."

**Narcissa Black**

_The sword on which he...!_

Narcissa Black clenched her jaw against an urge to cry out.

Lucius had warned her that the sorting agent--he had not mentioned the Hat per se, but he had told her everything else she would need to know--was hardly as unbiased as it pretended to be, but she hadn't believed him, not really, not until now.

"It holds part of Slytherin's mind," he'd told her as they walked across the moors this summer, "but it clearly takes little notice of his wishes."

"Because it Sorts the Mudbloods?"

"Among other things." Lucius climbed onto a stone wall, letting his cloak billow behind him in the strong wind. He looked over his shoulder at her. "There are slanders about Slytherin. The... agent... didn't speak to me directly, but Bellatrix told me that when _she_ was Sorted, it told her that if she wasn't careful, she would 'follow Slytherin's path to self-destruction.'"

"_Self_-destruction? Bella told _me_ that he was hounded from the school and left to die when he crossed Gryffindor."

"A somewhat more accurate picture of the situation." He looked away from her. "But you'll learn quickly that at Hogwarts, they imagine the other Founders to have been reasonable--they would have taken him back, as long as he renounced all the beliefs that mattered to him."

Narcissa sighed, and climbed onto the wall beside him. Since his father had died last year, Lucius had been spending a great deal of time with Bella, but this summer, Bella had taken up with Rodo Lestrange. She and Lucius had never dated--Bella only dated boys who were stupid and easy to control, and Lucius was neither--but he seemed to be at a loss for what to do with himself anyway, and by default, he had spent most of his summer holidays walking in the wilderness with Narcissa. His father had always told him he was not serious enough about his position in the wizarding world, and as they walked, he tried to come to terms with what it meant to be the head of the Malfoy family. He seemed to need to work it out for himself, so Narcissa remained quiet, and just let him talk.

"Our traditions go back for centuries, longer than the illiterate Muggle filth can count. We were choosing their kings while they were following pigs into battle. But now, we're meant to adopt _their_ ways, and _their_ standards. Have you seen what they get up to, Narcissa? Do you know the sort of people your _other_ sister associates with?" He wrinkled his nose in disdain. "They rut like animals in the mud, and sound like them when they talk, as well."

Narcissa blushed. She hadn't heard the word "rut" in general conversation before, and it sounded dirty. "Surely, _that_ isn't allowed at the school?"

"No." He sat down on the wall and stared moodily out across the heather. "Not _yet_, at any rate. But Dumbledore is such a Mudblood-lover that we'll undoubtedly be seeing a half-naked frolic on the Quidditch pitch any time now. Wouldn't want them to feel that their culture, if they can actually call it that, is being ignored, after all."

"You don't think Andromeda has..." Narcissa couldn't finish the thought.

Lucius looked at her shrewdly, then shook his head. "She's a Pureblood," he said. "Whether she likes it or not. She _wouldn't_."

It wasn't the most reassuring answer he had ever given her, and she had lost the rest of the day in a haze of worry that her sister was cavorting in a field somewhere with undressed Muggles. Every time she'd looked at Andromeda that evening, she'd flashed on the idea that Andromeda might have let that Mudblood boy she'd been spending time with hold her hand, or even kiss her. It was a revolting notion, and Narcissa hadn't been able to swallow a bite of her dinner.

"Baylor, Nicholas."

She took a sharp breath and brought herself back to the Great Hall. The sword on which he fell, indeed.

She glanced around and saw Lucius and Bella watching her from the Slytherin table, Bella with an encouraging smile. She was going to have a rally tonight in the Common Room, and Narcissa wanted to be right there listening to her. Lucius nodded to her and gave her a tiny smile. She felt herself blushing. He was too old for her now, but she'd worked out the years. By the time she left school, he would still be quite young enough to be unmarried, and she would be quite old enough to be available.

"Black, Narcissa."

Bella waved her hand generously. Without realizing that she meant to do it, Narcissa glanced over at the Gryffindor table, where Andromeda was sitting at the edge of her seat and biting her lip. Narcissa turned away, turning her nose up as she did so.

"Please take a seat, Miss Black," Professor McGonagall said, holding out the tattered Hat. It was an ugly, filthy thing, and Narcissa did _not_ relish the idea of putting it on her head, but tradition was tradition. She took it and sat down.

"Miss Black?"

She put it on.

Inside the Hat, she could smell years of dust and children, and feel the moist warmth of her own breath puffing up against her skin. Thank heaven Lucius had been able to clean up the mess from Sirius's Dungbombs--_that_ would have been horrible in here.

"Ah," a voice whispered in her ear. "What shall we do with you?"

Narcissa didn't answer.

"I can hear what you think."

_Then it's hardly necessary for me to make words of it, is it?_

"It makes it much more interesting."

_You told my sister she would self-destruct. And you slandered Salazar Slytherin._

"I was there, little one, and I remember."

"Hmmph," Narcissa said aloud, and reached for the brim of the Hat.

"No, wait."

She lowered her hands. _Very well._

"You show quite a bit of courage."

Narcissa recoiled in horror. Surely, it wasn't contemplating...

There was a soft sound, something like laughter. "A House you are determined to hate is never one you belong in. Though I wonder if it might... no. You are not a Gryffindor. Your courage is... specific. And Salazar Slytherin did not lack courage when it was needed."

_You might consider singing _that_ next year._

"I do see ambition in your mind. Not ambition worthy of your talents, but ambition nonetheless. You're a difficult girl to deter when you want something."

Relief flooded through Narcissa, too strongly to even maintain anger at the Hat. _Then it will be--?_

"_SLYTHERIN!_"

**Sirius Black**

The last Potter had been blasted off the _Purs_ tree two years ago.

The woman herself--a Vega Black-Potter--had done nothing in particular to warrant being erased from existence, having been dead for nearly thirty years, but Mum had blasted the rest of the Potters off the tree in a fit of pique when she was fifteen, during the Grindelwald War, when a Potter on the Wizengamut had sent a Black cousin to Azkaban for treason. Vega had been spared because old Phineas Nigellus, her uncle--still wheezing about the house at one hundred twenty three at the time--had a soft spot for her. (Sirius shared a room with Nigellus's portrait, and found it hard to believe that the snide old codger had a soft spot for _anyone_, but that was the story Kreacher had told him, and he'd been laughing, which was usually a sign that it was true.)

But Nigellus was long gone now, and Mum was head of the family. When Alya Black decided someone was going to go, someone bloody well _went_. She'd raged all day when James Potter's father convinced the Wizengamut to authorize Aurors to confiscate Dark Magic artifacts, annoyed that she had no one left to erase except poor Vega. It struck her as too unjust for a single burn mark.

Sirius had watched the whole thing from the sofa, where he and Regulus were playing a subdued game of Exploding Snap. He'd thought about tweaking Mum about her wild hair and sputtering, but Regulus was a bit scared, so he'd let it go. He hadn't thought much about the Potters, though. Usually, Mum's hatred was a good recommendation, as he'd told Peter earlier, but quite honestly, the Potters sounded like a crowd of rule-bound killjoys.

Being wrong was a fine thing.

James Potter nudged him in the ribs and motioned toward the greasy-haired boy from the train. Someone had cleaned him up, but he was already frowning again, glaring at the Muggle-born redhead he'd been helping Malfoy torment. James tipped his wand in that direction and grinned wickedly.

"Black, Narcissa."

Sirius shook his head slightly as Narcissa brushed past him and went to the stool, winking to acknowledge that he agreed--Greasy-Hair needed someone to lighten him up a bit. But Andromeda had begged him on the train not to get into any more trouble, at least until after the Sorting. ("It's alphabetical," she'd said as she Vanished the Dungbomb residue on his hands and robe. "If you can't make it all the way to _Black_, you're not ready for school.") It was her first day as a prefect, and she'd promised him that if he made her act, she'd hit him twice as hard as she'd hit anyone else, since Lucius was expecting her to favor him.

A pale hand reached between them and nudged James's wand back into his robes. Remus Lupin smiled sheepishly and glanced at Professor McGonagall, whose eyes were darting their way while Narcissa held whatever Council she was holding with the Sorting Hat. Sirius wished for a camera--the vision of Narcissa wearing something that looked like _that_ was too good not to preserve for posterity.

"Where do you want?" Peter Pettigrew whispered.

"Anywhere Bella's not."

"But aren't most of your family in Slytherin?"

"Andromeda's not."

"Still..."

"I'm _not_ going to Slytherin."

Peter looked at him uncertainly, and a flutter of nervousness began in the pit of his stomach. He was ambitious enough, and... well, he wasn't sly, but he did like to play tricks, and there _was_ the fact that his great-great-grandfather had been headmaster of the school and a Slytherin...

No.

It would not happen.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and Sirius looked up to see her looking at him sternly over the rim of her glasses. He nodded and flashed her a grin that usually got him out of trouble with Andromeda, but it only earned him a tightening of her already thin mouth.

"_SLYTHERIN!_" the Hat called out, and Narcissa removed it and flounced over to the Slytherin table, where she sat down between Bella and Lucius. She presented her cheek coquettishly to Lucius, who gave it a quick peck as a congratulations.

Sirius put his finger in his mouth and made a gagging motion. James Potter turned bright red trying not to laugh.

"Black, Sirius."

Sirius straightened up and went to the stool. McGonagall sighed deeply and shook her head as she handed him the Hat.

_If it puts me in Slytherin,_ he thought, pulling it on, _I'll just run away and live as a Muggle._

"That's a bit extreme, don't you think?"

Sirius jumped, surprised that the Hat had already been listening to him. _Not really,_ he thought. _It can't be _that_ bad, can it?_

"You would walk away from your whole family?"

_Wouldn't you?_

"I've found many of them interesting."

_Well... one or two. I'd miss Andromeda. And maybe Regulus. He's a git, but... well, it's not his fault._

"And you have so much talent in our world. You would give up magic, only because you don't like your cousins? Give it real thought, lad."

Sirius thought about it. _Yes. If I had to be part of Bella's group, I'd break my own wand._

"I believe you mean that."

_Good._

"Well, there will be no need for such drastic measures. Your mind is sharp--sharper than I've seen in some time--but it lacks the subtlety that Slytherin valued."

_Thank you._

"And your willingness to break all of your ties... I don't believe Hufflepuff would be the proper house for you."

_I'm not wild for studying,_ Sirius offered hopefully.

The Hat laughed. "Well, in that case, there's only one House left for you. I hope you won't run away from

"_GRYFFINDOR!_"

**Lily Evans**

"There you are," Gilderoy Lockhart had said on the train, cleaning the last of the Dungbomb mess from her hair with a wave of his wand, and giving it a little twirl so that it would wave gently. "You don't want that kerchief covering up your pretty red hair, do you?"

Lily grabbed the flowered scarf (also clean now) and wound it around her fingers. "My sister made it for me," she said. "She's learning to sew. My mother made the dress, and Petunia made the kerchief to go with it."

"Oh. Well, in that case, you should wear it until it's time to change into your robes."

The compartment door open and the boy called Tonks leaned in. "Are you alright, love?"

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

"Can I talk to the little one for a minute, Gilderoy?"

Gilderoy bowed extravagantly to Lily, put his wand in the pocket of his robes with a comical flourish, and left the compartment. Tonks came inside and closed the door. "I can't believe they made Malfoy a prefect."

"Is he always like that?'

"Yes. Bellatrix Black as well--that was the older girl. I don't know the younger boy. The little girl is Bella's sister."

"Naturally."

"Watch it, now. As it happens, Bella has another sister who's quite delightful."

"Sorry."

He shrugged. "Do you have a name?"

"Lily Evans."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Evans. Ted Tonks." He held out his hand, and she shook it. "Now, I meant what I said. Don't let gits like Malfoy ruin this for you. Hogwarts is a good place. The wizard-born aren't _all_ like him. They aren't even _mostly_ like him. His sort have just been getting loud lately."

"Why?"

"No idea. Well, an idea, but I don't really know much about it. Andi Black--the sister I told you about--thinks there's someone out there agitating. Bella was always mean, but she only started making a religion of meanness a couple of years ago. Going on about the 'Old Magic'--honestly, most of that rot sounds well-outgrown to me. But they've got it in their heads that we Muggle-borns are going to destroy their way of life or some such tripe."

"I got a few issues of the _Daily Prophet_ when I was in Diagon Alley. I saw some of that."

Tonks grinned. "Jumped right in, didn't you?"

"A bit," Lily said. "I was very excited when my letter came."

"You keep right on being excited."

She frowned.

"I mean it, Lily. I wish you hadn't run into Lucius Malfoy first thing, but sooner or later you'd have had to notice him. They're there. You'll have run-ins with them, we all do. But ignore him. Enjoy Hogwarts. Love the magic. All that and so on." He smiled.

"I couldn't very well ignore him today."

"No. But we look after one another. That lot that came for you--all Muggle-borns, except for Andi and Gilderoy. Don't feel obliged, but we'd love to have a girl who spit in Malfoy's face on her first day."

Lily grinned sheepishly--Mum had always encouraged her temper, apparently believing it was a redhead's birthright and that much in the world required outrage, but spitting in Malfoy's face _had_ been rather daring, and not very bright. Still, it felt good to know she'd done it. "I'm in," she said.

"We call ourselves the Muggle-born United Defense Squad. M.U.D.S."

"That's horrible!"

"It drives Bella quite mad, using a word that's supposed to make us feel awful. That's good enough for me." He waggled his eyebrows.

Lily had spent the rest of the train ride with the various members of M.U.D.S., trading stories about first forays into the magical world--Lily's seemed spectacularly uninteresting in context; Mum and Dad had been ecstatic about her letter, saying that it proved what they'd believed all along about the great power of the human mind, et cetera, et cetera--and filling Lily in on the various social structures they'd encounter at Hogwarts. The byzantine interrelationships of the Pureblood families made Lily's head spin. When they'd arrived at Hogsmeade Station, Benjy Fenwick had brought her to a gigantic young man named Hagrid and asked him to look after her especially, since she'd had a bit of a rough trip. She felt silly accepting this, since she felt considerably better now, but Hagrid had taken her aggressively under his wing, cursing "those ruddy dolts" and muttering about how Dumbledore would set things right soon enough. After admonishing her to "keep yer pretty head up and smile bright," he'd left her with the rest of the class.

A cheer erupted from the Gryffindor table as Sirius Black took his place beside his cousin Andromeda. She hooked an arm over the back of his neck and punched him in the shoulder.

"Camden, Benedicta," Professor McGonagall called when the cheering died down. A frightened looking girl with dark brown hair made her way to the stool, looking nervously to each side, and sat down. She put on the Hat.

"_RAVENCLAW!_" it called out.

Lily let her gaze drift while the Ravenclaw table welcomed Benedicta Camden. James Potter came into her field of view--he was already looking at her, and he waved cheerfully. He'd found her wandering around the platform and guided her onto the Hogwarts Express, for which she was grateful, but then he'd refused to listen to her, embarrassed her, and indirectly caused her run-in with Lucius Malfoy. _And_ he seemed to have befriended a boy who found it amusing to cover his cousins with dung.

Still... they'd both come after her. That was something. Even before the M.U.D.S., James and his friends had come to help her, _and_ against older students.

She shook her head. There was time enough to make friends later; she didn't have to decide tonight which side of the line James Potter would fall on.

The Hat sorted "Collins, Elhanan" into Hufflepuff and "Crenshaw, Roger" into Slytherin. After Roger Crenshaw, Professor McGonagall called a boy named "Dexter, Michael." Lily recognized him from Platform Nine and Three Quarters. She'd seen him wandering about before James found her. Muggle-born.

He stepped up to the stool, and a loud hiss came up the Great Hall--not from the students, but from the air. McGonagall put her hand sharply on Michael's shoulder and glared out at the room. "That will not be tolerated," she said. _"Finite incantatem."_

The hissing vanished. Bella Black, at the Slytherin table, had an unpleasant smirk on her face.

Michael Dexter put the Hat on and it declared him a Hufflepuff after a moment of silent discussion, then McGonagall looked down at her list again. "Evans, Lily."

Lily took a deep breath and stepped forward, accidentally brushing the dark-haired boy who had cursed her on the train. He turned and glared at her, pulling his thread-bare robes away as though she might set them on fire. She met the glare, not wanting to look away first.

"Miss Evans?"

Lily nodded and stepped away from the boy. She sat on the stool. James Potter sidled to the front of the group, the two remaining boys in his little circle trailing in his wake. He gave her an encouraging sort of smile, so genuine that she couldn't help but return it.

She put the Hat on.

"Let me think..." a voice said, before Lily had a chance to become accustomed to the slight sense of motion in the fabric.

_All right._

"Odd. You've given no thought to your House."

_I don't know anything about them, except what... you sang._ For a brief moment, the strangeness of having a conversation with a hat struck Lily--a part of her half-expected to suddenly wake up and smell breakfast cooking in Mum's kitchen downstairs--but she shook it off. _Though I'd rather not be housed with Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Black, if it's all the same to you._

"Mm," the Hat said. "No, you care far more about _how_ you accomplish things than _if_ you do. You wouldn't belong in Slytherin."

Lily nodded.

She supposed it _was_ odd... all of this happening in her life, seeing a Hat sing, listening to its descriptions of the Houses, and yet she hadn't spent a second speculating on where she would live for the next seven years. But as long as she wouldn't have to look at Bella every day and remember the stink of the dung being spread on her face, she quite honestly had no preference. She was just curious. What would the Hat see in her mind? It was rather like the horoscopes in the newspaper that Petunia read obsessively every morning.

Another laugh from the Hat. "It's quite unrelated to astrology," it said. "Well, I think your House is clear. I see a great deal of loyalty and devotion in you, but you wouldn't be satisfied in Hufflepuff. You have too much of a need to jump into the fight."

_I don't like fighting... I..._

"I can see into your mind," the Hat reminded her gently. "And from what I see, you are a

"_GRYFFINDOR!_"

**Remus Lupin**

"There is something I want you to understand," Dumbledore had said when Remus Lupin's parents left the parlor. "As Headmaster, I must stress that our rules are not to be broken lightly, but for a moment, let us set aside the fact that I am your Headmaster, and recall that I was also a student at Hogwarts." He smiled.

"Sir?"

"Remus, a great many arrangements have been made to accommodate you, and you know better than anyone that your condition is not a minor matter."

"Yes, sir."

"But I want you to listen to me and _hear_ me. Your lycanthropy is not a standard by which you will be judged. If you should find it necessary to break a rule, you will be in no more danger of expulsion than any other student."

"I don't understand."

"To put it plainly, you will be a Hogwarts student. You are not there on a trial basis to see if a werewolf can successfully attend school. Your attendance is not an experiment to be called off at any moment. You are a legitimate student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And the decision of whether or not we will accept lycanthropic students in the future is not dependent upon you." He smiled and leaned forward. "In other words, Mr. Lupin, you are quite free to be eleven years old."

Remus had laughed, more than a little bit nervous. "Thank you, but really... I don't break a lot rules. I--"

"You've had nearly no contact with other wizards your own age, or anyone your own age for that matter. Give yourself a chance to find out who you are and what you do."

Now, as Lily Evans took the Sorting Hat from her head and made her way to the Gryffindor table (where she was welcomed with much celebration), Remus looked up at the head table. Dumbledore was watching him with a slight smile. When he noticed Remus looking back, he raised his goblet.

Remus took a deep breath and nodded to him. He was still feeling slightly shaky--the moon was only three days past--but most of his equilibrium was back, and his strength had returned in time to lug his trunk to the station this morning. He'd been afraid he wouldn't be able to, and that would have required explanations. As it was, he had more than three weeks before he even had to think about the moon again.

There were enough other things to think about.

So much for not breaking a lot of rules.

He hadn't even been Sorted yet, and already he had gotten involved in a fight and lied to older students. He'd pulled his wand on a prefect back on the train, though he supposed that couldn't really be considered rule-breaking, if the prefect was hurting someone else.

"Fortin, Michael."

"_SLYTHERIN!_"

Remus put his hand into a pocket of his robe (a quickly altered hand-me-down from his father, who had muttered an embarrassed apology about finances), and drew out a small brass eagle. It turned its head importantly and looked at him.

"Ravenclaw?" James Potter whispered beside him.

Remus nodded. "Both my parents. And my... well, a lady we're friends with. She gave me this." He shrugged and put it back in his pocket, hoping that Professor McGonagall would interrupt again before James asked about the lady, who happened to be one Elizabeth Phelan, a delightful woman who had, on a not terribly delightful night when he was six, turned him into a monster. She was very happy that he would have a chance to go to school. She and her husband had both been Ravenclaws, just like Mum and Dad (though Elizabeth and Maddoc were older), and the lot of them had sat around in the parlor last night, reminiscing about the wonderful library in the Ravenclaw Common Room. Remus was looking forward to getting his hands on it.

"Hendrickson, Louise."

"_HUFFLEPUFF!_"

"Ravenclaw would be all right," James said in a noncommittal sort of way. "Be nice if all four of us were in the same House though, don't you think? The four of us from the train?"

On Remus's other side, Peter Pettigrew's face broke into a rather silly smile, looking entirely pleased. Remus grinned. He did like the others from the train. But they weren't...

Well, they weren't at all like him.

"Kendrick, Benjamin."

"_HUFFLEPUFF!_"

"I think I want Ravenclaw," Remus said tentatively. "But perhaps, if we're in different Houses, we could still, you know--" He stopped, horrified to realize that he'd been about to say _play_. "We could be friends," he said.

"Too right," James said.

"Lupin, Remus."

Remus nodded a farewell to James and went to the stool. Ravenclaw, almost certainly, Ravenclaw. He glanced at McGonagall, who was giving him a strange smile as she handed him the Hat.

Better to be in Ravenclaw, really. They would have his books, and as much as he liked James and Sirius and Peter, if they all ended up together, Remus had a feeling he would be in a great deal of trouble. After all, if it hadn't been for them, he could have had a nice, uneventful trip, enjoying his book--

The Hat laughed. "Your trip wouldn't have been nearly as interesting, would it?"

Remus blinked. _You heard that?_

"You don't seem to require a great deal of encouragement to get involved."

_Er..._

For a long time, the Hat didn't speak, just squirmed a bit on his head. When it did speak again, its voice was different, thoughtful. "You might have been a Ravenclaw once. Your mind is attuned to the beauty of learning..."

_But not now?_

"No."

_Because..._ Remus gulped. _Is it because I'm a... you know, don't you? Dumbledore said you would know, and wouldn't tell..._

"A lycanthrope?"

_Yes._

"You're changed. The amount of courage you need to summon to do things others take for granted has made you different."

Whatever fun there had been in the day seeped out of it. _I'm not who I would have been, then. I'm not... me._

"Who are we? Are we only what we are born as? Only what we choose? Only what happens to us? A wonderful question."

_I don't especially like it._

"That's the Ravenclaw in you. There's no good answer to be found, so the question bothers you. It may interest you when you're older and you've read some philosophy."

_It's my _life_. If I'm not who I would have been..._

"Then you are like any other person who experiences a change in life," the Hat said firmly. "Your mind will grow on its own--you have a great deal of natural curiosity, and you don't need Ravenclaw House to stimulate that. But your courage, that shines through. You knew what you needed, and you've acted on it already, in the act of coming here at all, and in coming to the defense of others.

"In short, at your core, you are a

"_GRYFFINDOR!_"

**Peter Pettigrew**

_Stupid,_ Peter scolded himself for the tenth time since he'd brought up Sirius Black's family. _Stupid, stupid._

Obviously, Sirius hadn't wanted to be in Slytherin, and reminding him that his whole family was... what on Earth had he done _that_ for? There was just an empty space, and someone needed to fill it by saying something, so naturally he'd said the first foolish thing to come to mind. Granted, once he'd realized that Sirius's family was _that_ Black family, he'd had a hard time thinking about anything else, but still, saying it...

_Stupid._

"Ravenclaw would be all right," James said to Remus Lupin, not far away. "Be nice if all four of us were in the same House though, don't you think? The four of us from the train?"

Peter's heart jumped into his throat. _The four of us._

Potter hadn't heard the stupid thing he'd said to Black, but maybe, just maybe...

He let himself hope.

"Lupin, Remus."

Remus Lupin went up to the Hat and put it on, and James Potter drifted over to Peter. James was obviously not very good at standing by himself.

"What about you, mate?" he whispered. "Know which House you want?"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat, and Peter looked up to see her frowning. James flashed her a grin and waited for her to look away.

"Don't know," Peter said, as quietly as he possibly could, but of course that was a lie. He'd wanted Gryffindor before--a house full of heroes--but he was afraid that if he said it, he might jinx the possibility. And since Sirius was already there, it was the only house where all four of them _could_ be.

_"GRYFFINDOR!"_ the Hat called out, and Remus Lupin, looking a bit dazed, made his way over to the table, where Sirius Black and his cousin Andromeda welcomed him. Lily Evans, the Muggle-born girl from the train, gave him a pretty sort of smile.

_That's two of us._

The strange chill twisted in his spine again, as it had on the train when James had casually said, "Well, we're all here." A goose walking over his grave, as Granddad used to say. Why was there suddenly an "us" for Remus and Sirius to be "two of"?

He supposed it didn't matter. It was probably just the card game. He hadn't met anyone else, so it seemed like they were his own group. Mother always said that Peter jumped at vapors.

_Still._

"McCrea, Alice."

A dark-haired girl made her way up from the back of the crowd and sat on the stool. There was a bit of laughter from the tables as the hat caught on the edge of a large bow she had in her hair, but after a moment, it slid down and began whatever silent conversation it was having with her. Apparently, it didn't have much to talk about; it was only a few seconds before it declared Alice McCrea a _"HUFFLEPUFF!"_ _Mertonson, David_ and _Millington, Ann_ were also Sorted quickly, into Slytherin and Ravenclaw, respectively. Ann Millington was apparently a Muggle-born; the Slytherins glared at her as she scooted to her table. Peter noticed the greasy-haired boy from the train watching her leave with a decidedly malevolent expression on his face.

James Potter shifted restlessly from foot to foot beside Peter as "Nettles, Zelda," a dotty looking girl with frizzy blonde hair, was placed in Gryffindor. From the corner of his eye, Peter could see James working his wand across his fingers with a kind of easy dexterity born of nervous energy. Peter had a momentary fear that James's restless hands would suddenly cast an accidental spell--it wasn't really safe behavior to twirl a wand around--but he pushed it away. James knew what he was doing.

"O'Malley, Finian."

Someone nudged Peter from behind, trying to get to the front. Peter stepped aside. Finian O'Malley was a short, skinny boy with blotchy freckles and glasses as thick as James Potter's. He was wearing a Muggle watch, and Peter could see bell-bottomed blue jeans under the hem of his robe. Peter nodded to him in what he hoped was an encouraging way. If people like James and Sirius were going to be his friends, he'd have to be a leader for other students.

He was about to go back to his own thoughts when he heard someone nearby--in the direction of the Slytherin table--whisper, "_Prolapsio_." No one else seemed to have heard the spell.

Finian's feet shot out from under him, skidding him forward until he collided with the greasy-haired boy, who jumped back with an expression of fury. Finian grabbed his robes to get his balance, his face turning bright red. "I'm sorry, mate, I just lost my--"

"Get your filthy hands off of me," the other boy said in cold, clipped tones.

Professor McGonagall's eyes widened as her mouth thinned. "Mr. Snape, apologize," she said.

The boy--Snape, apparently--glared at her dully for a moment, then said, in a voice that offered no sense of apology at all, "So sorry."

Finian nodded uncertainly and made his way up to the stool. The corner of Snape's nose twitched nastily as he watched.

"_HUFFLEPUFF!_"

"Pettigrew, Peter."

Peter took a deep breath, hoping against hope that he would be able to go into Gryffindor with Sirius and Remus, and probably James. _Courage_, he thought. _I will have courage._

He straightened his shoulders and looked at Snape, gathering his courage to speak as clearly as he could. "_You're_ the filthy one," he said, and went past without looking back. McGonagall was shaking her head in frustration as she put the Hat on his head.

"Ah," the Hat said. "I see you have a preference."

_Gryffindor,_ Peter thought. _Oh, please, Gryffindor._

"I see that you _want_ to be brave..."

_I _am_ brave. Really. I broke my ankle last summer and I didn't even scream._

"It's not bravery that makes you seek Gryffindor. You feel a part of a group, a community..."

_I like them because I'm brave with them. I--_

There was a sudden crack, and Peter felt the world tip horribly for a moment, then he was spilled out across the floor of the Great Hall. The Hat flew from his head and landed at McGonagall's feet as his chin slammed onto the floorboards, sending stars dancing through his head. As he fell, he caught a fleeting glance of Snape, his wand raised, looking vindictive.

"Mr. Snape, I-- Mr. Potter, no!"

James Potter's dexterous hands had stopped their restless fidgeting. When Peter turned his head, James's wand was raised aggressively over his head, pointed at Snape. "_Fossor!_" he shouted.

Two bright red spots of greasepaint appeared on Snape's cheeks, and his sharply beaked nose ballooned into the red ball of a clown's.

The laughter began while Peter pulled himself to his feet. For once, it wasn't directed at _him_--people were pointing at Snape with great hilarity. Snape himself was turning as crimson as the hex features James had given him, his enlarged nostrils flaring, his fists clenching.

_"ENOUGH!"_

Silence fell.

Peter turned to the head table, where the headmaster, Dumbledore, had risen from his seat. He came around the table silently, almost gliding, and stood before the remaining first years. "Mr. Potter," he said, "Mr. Snape. You will both come with me now."

Snape stood coolly for a moment, then straightened his shoulders and put his wand in his pocket. There was an expression of supreme disdain on his face. James's wand remained raised.

"Mr. Potter."

James looked up at Dumbledore, breathing hard.

"James," Dumbledore said, "put your wand away, and come with me."

Warily, James lowered his wand.

Dumbledore put one hand on his shoulder, and the other on Snape's. "Professor McGonagall," he said, "you may continue with the Sorting. I will see to Mr. Snape's and Mr. Potter's Sorting when you have finished with the Hat."

McGonagall nodded, leaning down to pick up the stool. She waved her wand, and a leg appeared in a gap Peter hadn't noticed before. It stood solidly.

"Mr. Pettigrew," she said. "Please continue."

Peter looked after James and Dumbledore (and Snape), who disappeared through a small door near the head table, then took a deep breath and returned to the stool. McGonagall handed him the Hat.

It didn't speak immediately when it slipped over his head. Peter waited for nearly half a minute before he thought to it, _Are you hurt?_

"No." The Hat sounded surprised. "Why do you ask?"

_Well, you were thrown. Do you... well, _know_ what happened?_

"I am aware."

_Oh._

"You wanted Gryffindor..."

_Yes._

"You'll never be happy there."

_I will._

"You're not without talent, Mr. Pettigrew. Nor without intelligence. Nor without courage. But you will always be in the shadows in Gryffindor. You'll be outshone."

_I'll be better if I'm with people who make me better._

"You believe that."

_Yes._

"And you're willing to sacrifice your chance to shine on your own, in order to become a better wizard."

_Yes._

"That, Mr. Pettigrew, is the clearest sign of bravery you have shown. Clearer, certainly, than foolishness about not screaming when you've injured yourself."

_Then I can..._

"If you are certain."

_I am._

"Then let it be

"_GRYFFINDOR!_"

**James Potter**

Dumbledore led them into a smaller room that was lined with portraits. James recognized a painting of a man with a walrus mustache as his great-great-uncle, Elliott Potter, who had been a liaison to the Muggle Prime Minister at the turn of the century. Uncle Elliott frowned down at him impressively.

James sighed. His great-grandmother's portrait at home was the same, always looking at him like she couldn't believe he had the gall to be the last Potter, and would prefer to sack him in favor of someone else. Dad said not to pay her any mind; she'd never liked boys much. "You should have seen the robes she expected me to wear!" he complained frequently, with a roll of the eyes. Her mother-in-law, James's great-great-grandmother, was much better. Grandmother Vega's portrait always greeted him with a mischievous grin and asked what sort of scheme he was planning. It was pretty much the same grin as Sirius Black's, which wasn't surprising, as Grandmother Vega had been born a Black, much to her daughter-in-law's disapproval. He wished they'd been able to bring her portrait to the station today; he'd have liked to wish her goodbye along with Mum and Dad and Auntie Luisa and the grandparents.

"You two will wait here," Dumbledore said, indicating two high backed chairs near the fireplace. He waved his wand and a plate of sandwiches appeared on a table. "I expect you both to be uninjured when I return." He fixed James with a look of deep disappointment.

"Yes, sir," James said.

Snape said nothing. He took the chair further from the door and sat in it stiffly, his hands curled into claws on the arms. He looked at neither James nor Dumbledore.

Dumbledore shook his head. "_Finite incantatem,_" he said, and the clown markings faded from Snape's face.

Snape didn't respond to it in any way.

"Mr. Potter, make an attempt." Dumbledore frowned again, then went back into the Great Hall.

James stood beside the empty chair for awhile, watching Snape, who didn't move. It wasn't fair--why should Dumbledore except _James_ to be the one "making an attempt"?

Still, if he didn't...

James didn't want to think about it. If Dad thought he'd been making Dumbledore's life difficult, Dad would make Great-Grandmother's portrait look warm and welcoming. He sighed and sat down, leaning toward Snape with his elbows on his knees. "Look, mate, that got a bit out of hand out there."

Snape glared at him dully.

"Well... I suppose I shouldn't have used that hex. It... wasn't very nice." James held out his hand, feeling rather pleased with his apology. He could be the bigger man, even if Snape didn't have the good grace to apologize for dumping Peter on the floor while he was at it.

Snape examined the outstretched hand like he'd never seen one before. After awhile, he looked up. "You're joking."

James withdrew his hand and rolled his eyes. "Fine. Have it your way."

Snape nodded and turned to stare at the fire. The flames made strange patterns on his pale skin, and made his eyes look flat and black.

James took a sandwich and tore into it moodily. In all his daydreaming about going away to school, he hadn't imagined being in trouble with Dumbledore before the first feast, or being covered with blood before he even got to school. Dad had told him the Dark Arts were rising again; James had been instructed in no uncertain terms to steer clear of them. Dad was fanatic about that. Losing three brothers and seeing his sister left barren in the war with Grindelwald had hardened his opinions on the subject. "Talk to your Auntie Luisa," he'd said. "If you're ever tempted to try the Dark Arts, ask her what they did to her when she married a Muggle."

James hadn't asked. He'd read about the Grindelwald war--and the Muggle war that had coincided with it--and he didn't need anyone to convince him to stay away from the Dark Arts. Dad had taken him to Germany last summer, and they'd walked silently through the graveyards that had once been wizarding villages. An old man in Mittelreinbach kept a museum, and he'd showed them... horrible things. Grindelwald had allied himself with the Muggle madman who'd been leading Germany, and he'd used prisoners and captive soldiers from the Muggle war to experiment with new curses and new ways to kill. He'd called beasts to rampage in the forest and...

James shook his head to clear it. He'd had nightmares about Grindelwald since he was small, and if he let himself get sucked into them, he'd be jumpy all night. Instead of dwelling on it, he slammed his sandwich down on the table and stood up.

Snape looked at him with vague curiosity.

"You're a piece of work," James said. "The Blood Curse, because someone accidentally ran into you with some Dungbombs?"

"Accidentally."

"Yes, accidentally. The world doesn't revolve around you, you know. We didn't even know you were there. And what did you pick on poor Peter for?"

"What did _I_..." Snape wrinkled his nose. "I won't be called filthy by a fat little blood traitor. Or a spoiled rich one." He sniffed in James's general direction. "Do you think I don't know who you are? Who your _family_ is?"

"My family has been in the Order of Merlin since... _Merlin_."

"Merlin was the one who ruined wizarding life in Britain. Muggle-loving half-blood traitor. His mother was a Muggle, you know. _They_ say that his father was a demon. What do you think, Potter? Are we demons?"

"Of course not, but--"

"He tried to tie us to the Muggles. To the people who were burning us and calling us devils."

"Well, it didn't help that there were wizards running about bleeding their children to make Potions!"

"It was _our_ way. Who was a half-wild half-blood to tell us what we could and couldn't do? The Old Magic is our heritage. It's--"

"It's sick, is what it _is._ Did you _see_ what happened in the war with Grindelwald? Do you know what he did to people?"

"To Muggles. They deserved it. Do you know what their books say? 'Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.' Nice, isn't it? So we just gave them back a bit of their--"

James grabbed him by the front of his robes and pulled him up, heart beating quickly. "They weren't doing a thing to us!"

"Mr. Potter!"

Snape's eyes darted up, looking over James's shoulder, and James knew before he turned what he would see. He sighed, and let Snape go, then turned. Dumbledore was standing in the doorway, the Sorting Hat in one hand, looking furious.

"He said--" James began, but Dumbledore cut him off with a sharp look.

"I'll be speaking to Mr. Snape," he said. "And I'll be speaking to your father. I don't imagine he'll take this lightly."

"But--"

"James."

"Yes, sir. I'm sorry."

Snape didn't say anything. James was starting to get the idea that Snape would sooner swallow an ashwinder egg than apologize.

"I want to speak to Mr. Snape alone," Dumbledore said. "So you take the Hat, and go out to whatever table is assigned to you."

James sighed and sat down again, taking the proffered Hat. "Professor, I..."

"We'll talk later, James."

"All right."

He put on the Hat, letting it slip over his face and encase him in darkness.

"You're a hot-headed young man," the Hat said.

_Particularly when I've got a pound or so of wool around my ears,_ James tried, hoping a joke would cut the Hat's impression of a temper tantrum.

It laughed. "Your mind is in so many places. You don't settle easily on a thought, do you?"

_Not really._

"Well, I believe we can eliminate Ravenclaw. You have a good mind, but your temperament is all wrong."

_My mother said that. She was a Ravenclaw._

"I remember." It shifted aimlessly on his head, and James imagined it hemming and hawing. "Well, yes," it said. "Yes, I think that will do..."

_What will?_

"Do you really need to ask?"

_Will you answer?_

"It's not really necessary, since we're outside the ceremony, but if you like... Welcome to

"_GRYFFINDOR!_"

**Severus Snape**

James Potter pulled the Sorting Hat from his head and handed it to Dumbledore. Both of them were smiling. Potter punched the air in celebration of his grand election into the house where the rest of his compatriots had landed. Severus rolled his eyes.

"Yes, James, congratulations. I imagine your father will be pleased," Dumbledore said, shaking Potter's hand.

"When he finishes being angry with me," Potter said lightly. Clearly, he didn't have a very good idea of what it was like to have someone actually angry with him. "I don't suppose..."

"No, James. The letter will be sent tonight."

"All right. I'm sorry, sir." He shrugged. "I suppose... well, you know... I shouldn't have stepped in."

"I take it you will remember that next time?"

"I'll try."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow suspiciously, then waved his hand at the door. "Go join your new House, Mr. Potter. The feast is just beginning."

Potter nodded and left. Severus heard a huge cheer come from the Gryffindor table before the door closed behind him.

Dumbledore stood in front of the fireplace, his hands clasped behind his back for a long while, saying nothing.

Severus sighed. "I suppose you'll be writing to _my_ father as well?"

Dumbledore finally turned around to face him with a discomforting, penetrating gaze. "No," he said. "No, I will not."

"But--"

"Don't imagine I'm taking your behavior lightly. But I will keep my own council about the matter. I... remember your father."

"Of course you do. He worked on _your_ side in the war."

"He was a strong fighter, Severus."

Severus raised his chin and looked Dumbledore in the eye. "Very strong, against unarmed women, with the whole Ministry backing him up."

"I'm sorry about your mother."

Severus didn't have an answer for that. He just slumped a bit in the chair, then looked away from Dumbledore and stared at the fire. The flames licked the sides of the fireplace, sometimes leaving black trails of soot against the stone. After-images flickered behind them, leaving a pattern of gold light in the air.

His parents were not Dumbledore's concern. It had been a mistake to even bring Mother up. Bellatrix Black had warned him on the train that Dumbledore might try to use him to get inside--"He'll come on as a great confessor," she'd said, "and he'll ask you to confess about _us_."

Severus crossed his arms and waited for Dumbledore to speak again. If he asked for information about Bella, he was going to find out that Severus Snape wasn't so easily manipulated.

"I can't just let it go," he said after awhile. "You were involved in two confrontations on your first day, and you certainly seem to have instigated this latter one."

"It was the Pettigrew boy--"

Dumbledore held up a hand, and Snape fell silent again. "Mr. Pettigrew came to the defense of a Muggle-born you had insulted. His methods leave something to be desired, but you, Mr. Snape, were the first to torment a classmate. You will serve three detentions with me this week."

"And Sirius Black, with his Dungbombs? Will _his_ father get a letter? Or will he get detentions?"

"Little as I may like Dungbombs, they aren't prohibited items on the Hogwarts Express. And Mr. Black's fate is not, at any rate, your concern."

_Of course. He started all of it, and nothing will come of it._

Severus bit his tongue and looked away from Dumbledore.

"Mr. Snape, I know you're angry. I know you have cause to be."

"Do you."

"I remember when we found your mother, hiding in the ruins at Tintagel. She was sixteen. She'd learned a lot from Grindelwald's people. It was how she stayed alive."

"I don't wish to discuss my mother."

"Perhaps your father? He was the one who found her, you know. Took care of her. Nursed her back to health."

"I don't wish to discuss _either_ of my parents with you." Severus physically turned away, curling up sideways in the chair.

"Very well. If you ever do wish to discuss them, I want you to feel free to come to me. I knew them both well, once."

"I won't."

Dumbledore nodded, as if he'd expected nothing else. "Very well," he said. "Mr. Snape, for you own sake, perhaps you should--"

"Stay away from Bellatrix Black?" Severus finished. "What a surprise."

"I was going to say you should try not to brew your anger. Miss Black would do well to learn that lesson as well, but I will not tell a student with whom he may associate. Think of what is right for you, not what's poison."

Severus shook his head and took in a sharp breath. _Bella_ was poison? She was out there giving people _hope_. Telling them that they weren't monsters, that their power was their own to use as they saw fit. Her cousin was the one spreading mayhem and chaos.

"With that, I'll leave you to be Sorted," Dumbledore said, his voice sounding weary. He held out the tattered Hat.

Severus looked at the Hat without touching it, then swiped it away quickly. He didn't put it on his head right away.

"You need to put it on."

"How many lies will _it_ tell me?"

"The Sorting Hat sees the truth, Severus. I suggest you listen to it."

Dumbledore turned and left the room, his robes swaying around him in a stately way. The door clicked shut.

Severus stared at the Hat and it stared mutely back. What would the Hat call truth? It was aligned with Dumbledore, as Father was, and Father had given his impression of the truth about Severus last night--unclean, traitorous, and dark. _Just like her._

Mother had told him the story, of course, many times before she went away. Severus had never believed it, not really--Father was distant and cold, and he couldn't imagine them caring for one another and speaking nicely in a hospital ward while she recovered from her near starvation. But she swore it was true. She'd promised not to use the Old Magic anymore because he didn't like it, and then they'd married. Even then, before Serenus died, Severus remembered Father testily telling her not to call it "Old Magic." She'd apologized quickly and said "Dark Arts," but when he wasn't there listening, it was always "Old Magic." _Always._

And then there was the accident, and it had all exploded, like an overheated cauldron. After Mother had gone away, Father had demanded that Severus tell him everything she'd taught him, all the secrets they'd shared: _What filthy lies has she filled your head with?_

Undoubtedly, the Sorting Hat would see it all.

But there was no choice.

Severus Snape put on the Sorting Hat.

"I was beginning to wonder," it said, "whether or not you intended to try me on."

_I don't care what you say._

"You're not unclean, you know," the Hat said. "Or evil."

Severus felt hot blood in his cheeks. He didn't like having the Hat speak his own words to him. He pushed back at the alien presence in his mind.

The Hat squirmed on his head, twisting a bit, then said, "That's not a productive way to do this. But you're certainly strong-minded."

_Thank you._

"Yes... I can see great skill in you, great discipline. But what to _do_ with you..."

_Do as you like._

"You believe you would prefer Slytherin."

_I _would_ prefer Slytherin._

"Yes, yes... I can see it in you. You have little patience for restrictions on your power."

_Why _should_ I? It's mine, isn't it?_

"Your mind is good, and you have courage... I wonder if it would be better for you..."

_Hmmph. Well, why not Hufflepuff? Haven't I some bumbling around skills as well?_

The Hat didn't get angry. It just laughed softly. "You, Mr. Snape, will never fit into Hufflepuff. That I can assure you. But perhaps Ravenclaw? Or--"

_Not Gryffindor._

"Yes, I see that."

For a few more seconds, the hat moved randomly. Severus imagined it frowning and fidgeting. "Very well," it said. "In the end, Ravenclaw isn't for you. It's a house where rules are followed much too carefully, and questions that are of interest to you are too far from the blood.

"In short, Mr. Snape, your instinct is correct. You belong to

"_SLYTHERIN!_"

--------

_The Great Hall was quiet at last, the only light the faint twinkle of the stars from the enchanted ceiling. The sliver of the moon which had shone earlier was long set, and the house elves had swept away the remains of the Sorting Feast hours ago._

The ghosts came silently through the walls. The Bloody Baron swept to the center of the room and surveyed the others, saying nothing. Sir Nicholas floated forward, seeming to have something to say, but in the end, simply fell silent. The Grey Lady made no move from her spot by the Ravenclaw table, and the Fat Friar, uncharacteristically solemn, turned away from all of them and knelt in prayer. Other Hogwarts ghosts, including their newest addition, little Myrtle, hovered in the air. Myrtle gave a shaky sob, but had nothing to offer, and was not asked for anything.

Even in the days of Grindelwald, none of them had seen a Sorting so fraught with tension among the students. Then, it had been a danger from outside. Now, the fight had been brought into the Great Hall itself.

Each ghost looked at the others, pearly gazes shifting nervously, each knowing that someone had to begin talking.

But no one did.

**To be continued... in 1984.**


	9. September 1, 1984: Nymphadora Tonks

**Of A Sort**  
by FernWithy  
**September 1, 1984:  
Nymphadora Tonks**

Granny the cat was sprawled out on top of Dora's trunk, languidly bathing herself. Dora picked up one very large paw to get her school list, and Granny just let it drop when she finished, giving Dora a reproving glare before turning back to the fluffy hair at the tip of her tail.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," Dora said. "You're the one who climbed up there in the midst of all this."

"Nymphadora!" Mum called from downstairs. "Are you ready? We have to go soon."

She checked the list, didn't see any of it lying around still unpacked, and took a deep breath. "I have to put Her Majesty in the basket!" she called back. "But that's all."

Despite the name change, Granny picked up on the word "basket." She jumped off the trunk like a shot and flew under Dora's bed.

"Oh, _please!_" Dora knelt down beside her bed and reached back for Granny, who had squeezed herself back against the wall. "Come on, now. You don't want to hide like that. Don't you want to go to school with me? There'll be lots of other cats. Almost as many as at home!"

"What's going on?" Dad asked.

Dora backed up and pulled her head out from under the bed to look over her shoulder at him. "Granny doesn't want to go into the you-know-what, and now she's back in the corner."

Dad knelt beside her and reached his longer arm back. Granny looked disdainfully at his fingertips and began cleaning her toes meticulously. Dad flattened out to get further under the bed, and Granny bestirred herself to move further away.

"Ahem."

Dora bumped her head getting out from under the bed. Mum was standing in the doorway, her wand held lightly in one hand and her eyes twinkling. "Ted, my love?" she said.

"Almost... have her," Dad said.

Mum pointed her wand at the bed and said, "_Wingardium Leviosa._"

The bed lifted off the floor and hovered about halfway up the wall.

Dad looked over his shoulder. "I could have done that," he said, rolling over and sitting up. "But really, where's the challenge? _Accio_ basket." The basket flew over to him. "Come on, Gran," he said. "Don't make Daddy summon you."

Granny looked dubiously up at the bed, then stood up and arched her back in a dignified way and strutted out, wrapping herself luxuriously around Dora's ankles then sitting down and blinking, as if to say, _Really, what's the fuss?_

Dora scooped her up. "Naughty thing," she said, and kissed the short fluffy hair between her ears. Granny purred contentedly and allowed herself to be put into the basket, as long as Dora kept a hand in with her.

"I'll just put a Sleeping Charm on her," Dad said. "Make it a bit easier."

"But she doesn't like it much."

"She likes the basket less," Dad said firmly. "Let her sleep. The journey will only confuse her."

Dora scratched behind Granny's ears again and kissed her goodnight. Granny rubbed her whiskers across Dora's hand affectionately, then curled up and went to sleep when Dad's Charm hit her.

"There," Dad said. "When she wakes up, she'll be safe in Hufflepuff."

Mum sniffed. "Gryffindor Tower will be much more to her liking."

Dora bit her lip. Mum wanted her in Gryffindor, but she didn't want to be there. She couldn't quite _say_ that, as it would break Mum's heart, but all the people she knew who'd been Gryffindors were dead, in prison, or very sad. Even Mum was very sad quite a lot, and she had Dad to make her happy.

It didn't sound like what Dora wanted.

"Mr. Lupin gave me an eagle," she said, holding up the little brass figure he'd given her last Sunday, when he'd come for lunch. "He must think I'll be a Ravenclaw."

Mum looked at it curiously. "How odd. Remus was a Gryffindor. I wonder why he'd think _that_."

"He said a lady who died this summer gave it to him when _he_ was Sorted--she was a Ravenclaw--and he wanted me to have it for luck." She didn't add that he'd also said he was certain she'd be a Gryffindor. ("As fearless as you are? Where else would you be placed?")

Dad took the eagle and looked at it thoughtfully, then handed it back to Dora. "That's a very special thing," he said. "Take good care of it. And Dora?"

"Yes?"

"If Mr. Lupin ever has children of his own, you'll want to give that back to him."

She frowned and put the eagle in her pocket. "Yes, Dad."

"Are we ready to go?" Mum asked, Levitating Dora's trunk.

Dora gathered up Granny's basket and Dad went ahead of the trunk to keep it from bumping into anything, and to scatter the various cats they'd collected over the years so that Mum wouldn't trip over them. When they went outside, he took one end of the trunk and Mum took the other, and they pretended it was very heavy as they slipped it into the back seat of Dad's old car. Dora herself climbed in beside it, Granny's basket a warm weight on her lap. Dad turned on the wireless, where a lady with an off-key voice was singing, _If you fall I will catch you, I'll be waiting, time after time..._

During the ride to King's Cross, Mum went on about what Dora should do if she'd forgotten something, or was lonely, or wanted to tell them anything. It was the fourth time she'd been through it, and about halfway through, she stopped and smiled. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm not as ready for this as you are. What will I do without tripping over your things in your room?"

"Dad can make an extra mess for you," Dora suggested.

"Right," Dad said, reaching across and taking Mum's hand. "And Dora can make you an especially _large_ mess when she comes home for Christmas holidays."

Mum laughed, but she was sniffing a bit as well. "All right, you two," she said. "Tease Mum all you like."

"We all have jobs in the world," Dad said seriously.

Dora's chest felt very tight suddenly, but she smiled to make Mum feel better. School would be nice--everyone said so--but until this moment, she hadn't really thought about how it would be not to see Mum and Dad for _months_.

Dad glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and then turned up the wireless. "Dora... it's your song!"

"_...Karma karma karma karma karma chameleon,_" the wireless sang, "_you come and go, you come and go_..."

Dora clapped, and she and Dad sang along with the chorus. "_Loving would be easy if your colors were like my dream--red gold and green, red gold and gre-ee-ee-een..._"

Mum looked back at her. "Dora! For heaven's sake, put your hair back--anyone could look through the window!"

Dora grinned sheepishly and ducked down under the window line. She'd turned the right side of her hair red, the left side green, and the middle gold. She concentrated, and let it go black again.

Mum shook her head. "You know better than that, in the middle of a Muggle road."

"Yes, Mum. Mum?"

"What is it?"

"Could I make it brown like yours? All the time?"

"Why would you want to do that?"

Dora shrugged. "You know."

Mum took a deep breath. "The Blacks aren't the only wizarding family with black hair, Nymphadora. It's rather common."

"But I look like..."

"Like Nymphadora Tonks." Mum looked back around the seat. "Your looks are your own, and if you choose to change them simply to amuse yourself--within reason, and not on a Muggle street--you may do so. But I won't have you using your ability to hide who you _are_. Do you understand the difference?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Good. Then that's that."

The scolding dissipated the impending homesickness, and Dad's continued singing dissipated the scolding, mainly because he was a terrible singer and he always made Mum laugh when he sang along with the wireless. They pulled into the station with twenty minutes to spare, and Dad brought a trolley along for the trunk. Dora pulled out her ticket.

Platform Nine and Three Quarters, of course, wasn't marked, but a suspicious number of families with school-aged children, trunks, and a variety of animals were milling about a bit too casually near the barrier between platforms nine and ten. As Dora watched, a large group of redheads formed a loose barrier, and when they moved, a little blonde girl and her parents had disappeared.

They edged over, a bit at a time, Mum pretending to check the platform numbers carefully against a ticket. Eventually, they settled in the milling group. The redheads were still there, while two older boys hugged and kissed littler children. The smallest, a girl with bright red pigtails that stuck straight out over her ears, smiled and waved to Dora. Dora waved back.

"How does this work?" she heard someone whisper.

She turned. Three people were standing uncertainly at the edge of the crowd, looking tentatively at the barrier. The woman was a beautiful Indian lady in a sari, wearing gold bangles. The man was a jovial fellow with red hair and a broad, pleasant face. They were both quite good-looking. The child between them was obviously theirs, but he looked like someone had just smashed their attractive features together without concern for what fit where. He had his father's broad nose on his mother's narrow face; his mother's dark hair, highlighted with his father's bright red (and curled in a mess that was all his own). His eyes were an unremarkable muddy green, and his teeth appeared to be too large for his mouth. He smiled at Dora in a daft way and pulled a face at her.

She laughed, liking the ugly boy on sight, and held out her hand. "I'm Dora Tonks," she said.

"Sanjiv MacPherson."

"Are you Muggle-born?" Dad asked.

Sanjiv nodded.

Dad grinned. "Let me walk you through it." He looked at Mum and Dora. "Literally. I'll see you both on the other side."

Dora and Mum slipped through the redheads and leaned against the barrier (one of the redheaded boys came at the same time, carrying a younger brother). A moment later, they were on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, peering through the steam at a scarlet train. Dora looked up at Mum and grinned widely.

Four more redheads came through--the mother, carrying the little girl, and the other school boy, his hand tightly on another brother's shoulder. A moment later, the redheaded father came through, a child in each arm (these two perfectly identical to one another).

"Bill!" the little girl said, reaching for the oldest boy, who took her from their mother and put her on his shoulders. "Boom tick!" she yelled.

The older boy--Bill--stuck one arm out and let the girl hold onto his wrist, then he leaned forward and pretended to be a broomstick, running her around through the steam while she laughed shrilly. The other school boy put the littlest brother on his shoulders, and within seconds, there was a regular Quidditch match going between them. Mum squeezed Dora's shoulder and sighed. Dora patted her hand. They never talked about it, but she knew that Mum and Dad wanted more children who'd just never come.

"Andromeda Black?"

Mum looked over sharply. For all her going on about not hiding, she certainly didn't go about introducing herself as the cousin of Sirius Black, or the sister of Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black. But no one else seemed to have heard. The redheaded mother was looking at her with astonishment.

A puzzled look crossed Mum's face, and then it lit up with recognition. "Good heavens," she said. "Molly Prewett? Is it you?"

"I haven't been Molly Prewett in years, but yes. Dear me, is this your little girl?" The boys flew over, and Molly not-Prewett-in-years tapped their shoulders to stop them running around. "These are my boys, Bill and Charlie--Bill's in his third year, and Charlie's just starting."

"This is my daughter, Nymphadora."

"Mum!" Dora cried, noticing the boys look at one another with suppressed grins.

Mum rolled her eyes. "She's starting this year. She normally goes by Dora. Tonks. I don't know if you'd remember my husband or not...?"

Molly not-Prewett shook her head in a vague way. "You remember my husband, Arthur, don't you?" she asked, nodding at the man with a twin in each arm.

"Of course I do!" Mum looked at Dora. "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were seventh years when I started. They welcomed me to Gryffindor!"

"And Bill can do the same for you!" Mrs. Weasley said enthusiastically.

"Though I do highly recommend making friends with charming Hufflepuffs," Mum said.

Mrs. Weasley laughed. "It's so different now, with You-Know-Who gone. Bill has friends in all the Houses. Even Slytherin."

Mum raised her eyebrows suspiciously. "Things _have_ changed."

"Not at Quidditch games," Bill assured her. "We hate one another on the pitch. There _are_ things that even the Boy Who Lived can't change."

"As it should be." Mum's smile faded a bit. Unlike most wizards and witches Dora had met, Mum, Dad, and Mr. Lupin did _not_ enjoy talking about the Boy Who Lived, as they had known his parents, who hadn't. But Mum didn't press the issue.

Dad came through the barrier, Sanjiv MacPherson in tow. Sanjiv looked back at the now-sealed arch in astonishment, then glanced around the platform, obviously pleased.

The families split off from each other on some invisible cue (Sanjiv standing awkwardly off to one side). The Weasleys were engaged in a round of mutual hugging, and Mum pulled Dora close. Her perfume, which smelled like autumn leaves, filled the world.

"Darling," she sad, "I'll miss you so."

Dora hugged her back and smelled her perfume. "I love you, Mum," she said.

Mum pulled away and kissed Dora's cheek. "My world isn't going to be at all colorful until Christmas."

"I'll write to you on pink parchment with purple ink."

Mum hugged her again, then let her drift over to Dad, which barely required turning around, as he was already holding both of them. He kissed her head.

"Be good, love," he said. "Promise?"

Dora knew he didn't mean "behave"--he said "behave" when he meant that--so she didn't feel at all guilty saying, "I promise," even though she expected that she'd get into trouble at some point.

Mum took a deep breath and put her hands on Dora's shoulders, turning Dora around with a gentle push to face the world.

Sanjiv MacPherson had wandered over toward the train, and was now standing near the Tonkses and looking back uncertainly.

"Do you want to sit with me?" Dora asked, before Dad prodded her.

Sanjiv nodded and smiled.

"And you can both sit with us," Bill Weasley offered.

That settled, they helped one another get trunks and animals on board the Hogwarts Express, setting up in a compartment about halfway down the train. Dora climbed on her trunk and lowered the window when she got there and waved to Mum and Dad, who were watching for her. Dad reached up and squeezed her hand, then winked. "Enjoy Hufflepuff!" he said.

The train whistle blew before Mum could say anything, but Dora saw her roll her eyes before she leaned back through the window, catching her blouse on the sill and throwing herself off balance. She slipped off the edge of her trunk and fell on Sanjiv, who laughed and righted her without making any comments.

It seemed that Bill Weasley was quite popular, and as the train pulled out of London, several of his friends began to drift in. Most wore badges with Gryffindor colors, but there were two Ravenclaws (one, Moira Troy, stayed for the whole journey), a handful of Hufflepuffs, and even a Slytherin named Conrad Peale, who appeared to be a good friend. A knot of frightened first years checked the compartment to see if it was empty, and before they could skitter further down the train, Dora waved her arm for them to come in. By the time they were an hour out of the station, there were ten people in the compartment, five on the seats, three sitting on their trunks, and two sitting cross-legged on the floor. Dora was in the last group, sitting knee to knee with another first year girl whose thin blonde hair had been pulled into a high ponytail on the top, with the rest hanging flatly against her shoulders.

The girl smiled shyly. "I'm Dora," she said.

Dora laughed. "So am I. Dora Tonks."

"Dora Madrigan."

"That'll be a bit confusing," Sanjiv said.

"Not really," Charlie Weasley said, lying flat on his trunk and putting his hands on the floor. "We'll just call _that_ one _Nympha_dora."

"Not if you want all your teeth where they started out," Dora said.

"...and if it's Quidditch you like, you'll want Ravenclaw," Moira Troy was saying to one of the other first-years, a freckled girl with a thick Irish accent, whose name was Cathleen Mullet. "I made Chaser last spring when one of the fifth years had to leave the team to study for O.W.L.s, and the captain, Anna Moran, is the best in the school."

Charlie rolled back to the top of his trunk. "How's Gryffindor? Bill won't talk about it."

Moira snickered. "He's got good reason for that."

"Are they _that_ bad?" Dora Madrigan asked.

Conrad Peale, who was sitting beside Moira and sometimes holding her hand, nodded. "Even Hufflepuff is better."

"Hey!" Dora said. "My Dad was a Hufflepuff."

Conrad put up his hands in surrender.

"Hey, Dora!" Sanjiv called.

"Tonks or Madrigan?" Dora Madrigan asked.

"Tonks. Is this your cat?"

Dora looked over. Granny's basket had tipped as the train rounded a bend, and the poor thing was blinking around in a confused way, the Charm not worn off yet, but not really strong enough to survive being spilled. "Yes," she said, and held out her arms. "Come on, Gran, Dora's here."

Granny curled up contentedly in her lap and let the Charm put her back to sleep while Dora petted her.

After that, they drifted into a two-deck game of Exploding Snap (Bill got his eyebrows singed, but somehow or other, that much noise didn't wake Granny up), then swapped sweets from a trolley that came around. Dora Madrigan got over her initial shyness entirely, and, to avoid confusion, the others all started calling them Madrigan and Tonks. It struck Dora as amusing for some reason, and she laughed every time someone called her that. Nevertheless, by the time the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station, the names had stuck. Dora Madrigan, in fact, had become "Maddie," and "Maddie" she would remain until her dying day, as far as Dora Tonks knew.

As they filed off the train, they were instructed to leave their luggage and pets to be carried to the school. Dora put Granny into her basket and kissed her, then crowded out with the others to the edge of a lake. High overhead, the turrets of Hogwarts castle glittered in the night. Carriages were lined up for the older students, but a huge, ragged looking man with a jovial smile was calling "Firs' years! Firs' years, over here!"

Bill Weasley led the first years from the compartment over and waved to the man. "'Lo, Hagrid!" he called.

The man--Hagrid--turned. "Well, hullo there, Bill!"

"Everyone, this is Hagrid," Bill said, and pulled Charlie forward. "Hagrid, this is my brother Charlie, who I told you about. Charlie'll love your pets."

Charlie nodded eagerly, and Hagrid winked at him.

"See you later," Bill said, punching Charlie's shoulder. "Good luck."

At that, he headed off for a carriage that Conrad and Moira were holding for him. Dora got into a boat with Maddie, Cathleen, and a skinny boy who hadn't been in the compartment with them. Sanjiv and Charlie piled into the next boat in line.

They didn't talk much as they crossed the lake--it seemed to be something special, and even Dora didn't want to break the mood--but as soon as they started to disembark at the small dock under the castle, the conversations started up again. Sanjiv MacPherson made an elaborate show of kissing the ground. "Land! At last! After months at sea...!"

Maddie shook her head. "Boys."

"I like them," Dora said, and flopped down beside Sanjiv. "Clean water!" she said. "Food!"

Charlie Weasley came over and mimed straightening his collar. "Magical Accidents and Catastrophes here. May I help you?"

"Yes," Dora said melodramatically. "My brother and I have been lost at sea..."

"I don't think you can pass for my-- hey!"

Dora grinned. While he'd been looking away, she'd morphed her skin and hair to match his, right down to the mess of freckles on his nose.

"How did you do that?" Charlie asked.

She shrugged.

"Can you do Charlie?" Sanjiv asked.

Dora concentrated, turning her hair bright red and whitening her skin to the just-next-door-to-dead pallor that Charlie had under his freckles.

"Oh, me!" Maddie called.

Dora made her hair blonde and thinned it out a bit, then held it up into a ponytail with her hand.

Maddie clapped.

For fun, Dora turned her hair purple, then got up, straightened her robes, and took a bow. There were a handful of people who were looking at her in an unfriendly way, but most her fellow first years clapped.

"Ahem."

She looked up.

At the top of a flight of stairs, a stern looking witch with black hair was tapping her fingers impatiently on her hips. "Are you quite finished playing the clown?" she asked.

Dora smiled as winningly as she could.

The witch shook her head. "I don't believe that's your natural hair color, Miss Tonks."

"Yes, ma'am." She changed her hair back to black.

The first years slowly calmed down and made their way up the stairs.

"I am Professor McGonagall," the witch said. "Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts. In a few moments, you will enter the Great Hall, where you will be Sorted into your houses. For the next seven years, your House will be your family..."

Dora linked arms with the two people closest to her (Charlie Weasley and Cathleen Mullet), and they linked with whoever was beside them, making a chain about eight people long by the time they were done. Professor McGonagall didn't notice until they reached the doors of the Great Hall and tried to snake through without letting go. She paused and raised an eyebrow at them until they released one another and filed in normally, walking between long tables where older students were already sitting, waiting for the feast. Bill Weasley waved to Charlie from the Gryffindor table. Moira waved from Ravenclaw, and Conrad Peale raised a solemn hand from Slytherin.

At the head of the room was a raised table, where the adults sat. A wizard with a long white beard and twinkling eyes raised his goblet to the first years and smiled over its lip. Beside him, a youngish man with dark, greasy hair looked like he might be ill at any time. His upper lip was curled and twitching. In front of the table was a stool, and on the stool was a ragged, pointed woolen hat.

The tip of the hat swayed this way and that, as if looking at the incoming class, then a rip near its brim seemed to smile, and it began to sing.

_Years ago, in ages dark  
On the windy, heathery moor  
On a mossy rock, on a storm crossed hill  
Sat bold young Gryffindor.   
  
His feet were sore, his shoulders stiff  
From traveling for days.   
Alas, he thought, his masters could  
not be in just one place.   
  
And just like that, the notion came  
Full-formed and burning bright  
He'd gather all the wisest ones--  
On the hill, they'd set a light.   
  
He went first to crafty Slytherin  
A teacher and a friend  
To try and get him to depart  
His home in misty fen.   
  
"I am not wanted," Slytherin said.   
"They fear me far and wide.   
An enemy they counted me,   
A demon to despise."   
  
Gryffindor told him, "Don't be daft,   
The war was long ago  
If you'd be brave and come along,   
They'll not see you as a foe."   
  
So together they set out  
For the valley green and wide  
Where kindly Widow Hufflepuff  
And her children did abide.   
  
Said Hufflepuff, "I cannot go,   
I have this earth to tend  
And all these small ones to protect  
From the fearful mob's bloody hands."   
  
"Be wily, Madam," Slytherin said  
"And be not where they believe  
So when the cruel strangers come  
You'll have long since taken leave."   
  
And so the three departed  
The small ones in their care  
And sought a peaceful forest glen,   
Home to Ravenclaw the fair.   
  
"I will not join you," Ravenclaw said,   
Her voice a bitter draft  
"I vowed to serve but was driven away  
For serving through my craft."   
  
Gentle Hufflepuff stepped forward.   
"Holy Sister, pray, be kind.   
Your gifts are needed in our world--  
Keep your vow and share your mind."   
  
Four at last, they traveled far  
Until they found this place  
But a haven it was not to be  
From ignorance and hate.   
  
To burning torch and angry cry  
They all awoke that night  
And there did Gryffindor first raise  
His sword by firelight.   
  
The four fought off of their enemies  
With spells and sword combined,   
And Gryffindor tried to rush after,   
His rage still rising blind.  
  
"Be wise, my lad," said Ravenclaw  
"We all still need you here.   
To wield your sword in our defense  
And shield us all from fear."   
  
And so together they did choose  
To hide the school away  
From prying eyes and violent hands  
And anger gone astray.   
  
They built the school on this spot,   
And the castle that you see,   
And the ways and paths that you will learn,   
And a gentle season's peace.   
  
But in that peace, I still must Sort  
This house or that for you  
Bold or wily, kind or wise  
Try me on--I'll tell you true!_

The older students applauded, and the first years followed suit. When the clapping died down, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, a scroll in one hand. She unrolled it.

"Apcarne, Dafydd," she said.

The skinny boy who had been in Dora's boat came to the front of the group and sat down on the stool, putting the Hat on his head with genuine curiosity. It squirmed for a moment, appeared to think (tilting its tip from side to side), then the rip at the brim opened wide, and it called, "_HUFFLEPUFF!_"

A cheer erupted from the Hufflepuff table as Dafydd Apcarne sat down there. Professor McGonagall went on to call "Baxter, John" (_"SLYTHERIN"_) and "Blandeshin, Elizabeth" (_"HUFFLEPUFF!"_). Each table welcomed its newcomers with enthusiasm. Dora wondered why Mom and Dad and Mr. Lupin made such a fuss about Houses--they all seemed to be getting along nicely with one another and among themselves.

She leaned over to Charlie Weasley. "Do you know what you'd like?"

"Gryffindor, like my brother. What about you?"

"Hufflepuff. Though Mum and Mr. Lupin think I should be in Gryffindor. And Ravenclaw wouldn't be awful."

"Good Quidditch."

McGonagall frowned at them. "Delamar, Bertrand." ("_RAVENCLAW!_")... "Fairweather, David." ("_GRYFFINDOR!_")...

Cathleen and Sanjiv were involved in some sort of whispered discussion, and Dora tapped Cathleen's ankle with her toe to get her attention when McGonagall neared the end of the L's. They straightened up.

"MacPherson, Sanjiv."

Sanjiv swept up to the stool, grinning madly, and pulled the Hat onto his head in a quick and eager motion. "_HUFFLEPUFF!_" it said immediately.

Dora clapped--Dad would be happy to know that the boy he'd helped was a Hufflepuff.

Maddie edged over to them. "I'm so nervous," she said.

Dora patted her hand. "You're all right."

"Madrigan, Dora."

Maddie took a deep, shaky breath and went to the Hat. It didn't take long to announce that she was also a "_HUFFLEPUFF!_"

"Mullet, Cathleen."

Cathleen waved to them as she passed, and waved to Moira Troy at the Ravenclaw table. Moira made a flying motion with her hand, and Cathleen grinned. No one was especially surprised when the Hat called, "_RAVENCLAW!_"

"O'Neal, Devon." (_"GRYFFINDOR!"_)... "Parkinson, Paul" (_"SLYTHERIN!"_)... "Perlberg, Isaac." ("_GRYFFINDOR!"_)

Dora wrapped her fingers around the brass eagle that Mr. Lupin had given her. For luck.

Despite the Ravenclaw emblem, he wanted her to be in Gryffindor almost as much as Mum did; the two of them had been buying and making her red and gold things for years. Mr. Lupin had spent one Christmas drawing with her--he was very good at it--and had drawn her with a red and gold scarf, playing with other children in red and gold scarves.

They both loved her; she supposed they wouldn't want anything bad for her. So Gryffindor wouldn't be a terrible place, really.

"Randall, Marsha." ("_SLYTHRIN!_")... "Sanderson, Anastasia." ("_RAVENCLAW!_")...

"The herd's thinning," Charlie Weasley whispered.

Dora laughed.

"Templeton, Peter." ("_GRYFFINDOR!_")

"Tonks"--Dora put her hands over her ears--"Nymphadora."

She went to the stool and sat down, taking the Sorting Hat in her hands. People at several tables were looking at her in a friendly way. She put the Hat on.

"Aha," it said. "Another Black."

_Tonks_, Dora said, alarmed. _Another Tonks._

"Yes, I can see that as well." It moved on her head. "Interesting... Your mind is very, very good."

_Is it? Mr. Lupin says that._

"Ah, yes. I remember Mr. Lupin." It thought a bit longer. "You aren't sly..."

_Not in the least._

"You don't lack courage. There's little you fear in this world."

_Almost nothing. Mum says I'll fly into a storm cloud one day just to talk to the thunder._

The Hat laughed.

_But I don't want to be in Gryffindor,_ Dora stressed. _It sounds very sad to me._

"There's quite a lot of thunder to talk to in Gryffindor," the Hat said, its tone sounding like it meant an agreement, though Dora wasn't sure _what_ it meant, precisely.

_I'd like Hufflepuff_, she said. _Like my Dad. I--_

"In general," the Hat said, "_I_ do the Sorting."

_Oh. Right. I'm sorry. Mum says I mustn't try to hide who I am._

"A wise woman. Not that you would ever be particularly successful at hiding your identity."

_I'm a metamorphmagus._

"Cosmetic." The Hat shifted a bit more. "Yes, yes... you could shine in Gryffindor. You could make a name for yourself."

_I _have_ a name. A rather large one that's a bit awkward to carry around sometimes._

"And yet, you manage with no difficulty. No," the Hat mused. "I don't think you _are_ a Gryffindor. You have courage, but neither the need nor the desire to prove it. You _are_ willing to work hard, and what you value most are the connections you make with other people..."

_Please, oh, please..._

"I believe you're right. Be happy in

"_HUFFLEPUFF!_"

**To be continued... in 1991.**

**A/N:** Thanks to the readers of my LiveJournal, who helped me fix some problems in the first draft of this segment.


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